Fiona's Charming Ordeal
by Gadfly
Summary: Fiona's adventures during the day in Shrek 2 that she awakened as a human. Story is now complete.
1. Facing the Strange

Fiona's Charming Ordeal

By Gadfly

Introduction

Fiona's adventures during the day in _Shrek 2_ that she awakened as a human.

Many, many thanks to TrudiRose for her invaluable assistance with proofing and suggestions as the story has evolved. I strongly recommend her own excellent stories as collected at this site.

**Copyright Notice**

Characters, places and situations from the motion pictures _Shrek_ and _Shrek 2_ belong to DreamWorks. They are used here with affection but, alas, without permission.

Layer 1: Facing the Strange

Crown Princess Fiona of the kingdom of Far Far Away awoke, stretched, washed her face, looked into the mirror on the wall above her basin, and screamed.

The face looking back at her from the mirror was not hers. Or rather, it _was_ hers. But it was the delicate, beautifully contoured face of her human self, a face that had launched so many valiant knights on ill-fated quests to rescue her from a dragon's keep. It was not the broad, pudgy, green-skinned face of the ogress she had been, day and night, for the past many weeks. Not the face of the being that she had at first resigned herself to become, and then reveled in the becoming. Not the face of her husband's wife.

"FIONA!"

The voice had come from far below, from the castle courtyard, and it called but that one word. But Fiona instantly recognized the voice. How could she not? It was the voice of –

"Shrek!" Fiona gasped, turning away from the mirror. He was back! She had feared she had lost him forever, and now here he was in the courtyard, calling her name!

Fiona began to dash from her room and nearly stumbled, just catching her balance before she sprawled face-first across the floor. It had been quite some time since she had occupied this much lighter shell, and she would have liked some time to re-acclimate herself to it. But there was no time. Shrek was in the courtyard below, and she had to reach him as quickly as she could. There was much going on that morning that was baffling and confounding her, but in all the turmoil she held onto one firm constant; she had to find Shrek. It was the one certainty that grounded her being.

Fiona quickly regained her footing as she staggered into the hallway. She paused for the briefest moment. The main stairway was to her left, but she knew from her childhood days that there was a servants' stairway to the right, and slightly closer. She further remembered from her childhood that the servants' stairway featured smooth metal rail banisters that were perfectly made for sliding down – and cutting the time it took to travel to the main floor by a few seconds. As any reduction in the time it took to reach Shrek seemed worth it, Fiona turned to her right and ran to the door that opened to the servant's stairway. She threw the door open and paused just a moment as she looked down the stairwell and its railing. It seemed oddly smaller now than when she was but a small child – of either species. Nevertheless, the princess then threw herself on the railing and began sliding down.

Halfway down the first flight, Fiona saw a male servant trudging up the stairs, a full breakfast platter balanced on his upturned right hand. His eyes were cast down at the steps that he labored to climb, and his left hand gripped the railing down which Fiona now traveled.

"Look out!" Fiona called.

The servant looked up to see the princess speeding towards him. He yelped in surprise and sprang away from the railing. His back thumped against the stairwell wall opposite the banister and the tray toppled from his grasp, showering him with juice, eggs, tea, and milk. Cups and glass shattered as they hit the steps and the platter itself clanged loudly as it followed them and then began bouncing down the stairwell.

"Sorry!" Fiona apologized as she glided past. She would have spent more time in a proper apology and offered to help clean up, but she was obsessed with her own quest. She slid off the railing at the end of the first landing, again almost losing her balance, but a brief moment later she flung herself on the railing for the next level.

"SHREK!" Fiona yelled as she reached the main floor, her voice echoing back up the stairwell and eventually out the still-open stairwell door near her bedroom.

Fiona sprinted across the wide castle hall. Her re-acclimation to her human physique was nearly complete; she found it was coming back to her like riding a bicycle. She reached the broad wooden doors, shoved one of them open, and then stepped into the sunlight. She looked down into the courtyard at the base of the steps, expecting – praying – to see a large green ogre standing there, more than likely with a small gray donkey by his side. She wondered – she feared – how he would react to seeing her back in this form. It wasn't like she had any sort of explanation that she could offer him. But that was something they'd deal with later. Right now the important thing – the most important thing in the world – was for them to be back together.

But there was no ogre. No donkey either, for that matter. The only nearby being she saw in the courtyard was a large white stallion standing at the base of the steps, a stallion with a majestic build but with something both odd yet somewhat familiar about the face.

"SHREK!" Fiona called again, and then scampered down the steps, casting her eyes further about the courtyard for any hint of her beloved.

"Princess!"

The voice that answered her was not Shrek's, but it rang bells of recognition just the same. And it had seemed to come from the stallion. She turned and looked again at the face of the equine – the large brown eyes and the big toothy grin, which were now beaming at her. Fiona was nonplussed. Could this possibly be –

"Donkey?" she ventured.

"Wow! That potion worked on you, too, huh?" the stallion – Donkey? – gushed.

"Uh – _what_ potion?" Fiona asked, the muddy whirl of bewilderment that made up her thoughts this morning getting even murkier. The last thing she remembered from the previous day had been the heart-wrenching scene where she had announced to her parents her intention to leave this castle, seek out her missing husband, and return with him to their home in the swamp. The unspoken subtext of that confrontation had been that she would likely never see her parents again. She was just about to walk out the doorway into a pouring rain towards her announced quest when she had suddenly felt her head began swimming and then fainted. She certainly didn't recall drinking any potion.

"Oh, it's kind of a long story," Donkey replied. "But you see, Shrek and I took some magic potion and well … now … we're _sexy_!"

Donkey continued to grin at her, apparently quite happy with himself and with life in general, as Fiona tried to digest this information. So _Shrek_ had taken a potion that had somehow affected both him and her. But why would he do that? And where was he? But then Fiona noticed some movement from something on Donkey's back that she hadn't observed before. And she heard a – _purring_? Dear God, what had Shrek done! Slowly – fearfully – she looked around Donkey's head to get a view of his back. Then she saw sitting there facing away from her … a cat. An orange cat, oddly wearing a plumed dark cavalier hat and boots. Around his waist was a brown belt that held a small rapier. The cat had one booted foot thrust into the air as it cleaned itself. If this was Donkey's idea of sexy, then her equine friend indeed needed some serious therapy.

Fiona's nose wrinkled. "Shrek?" she asked, hoping she was wrong.

The cat looked up, then back around at her. After a moment it casually leaned back on one paw … _ogled_ her … and then _spoke_. "For you, baby," it said suggestively in a deep male voice with a Spanish-tinged accent, "I _could_ be."

"Yeah, you _wish_!" Donkey rebuked his mysterious feline rider which, much to Fiona's relief, was apparently not a transmuted ogre.

Fiona dismissed the cat. She didn't need another annoying talking animal, she needed her husband. She turned back to her remodeled friend and, with a hint of desperation seeping into her voice, asked, "Donkey, where is _Shrek_?"

"He just went inside, looking for you," Donkey replied, jerking his head back toward the steps and doorway from which Fiona had just descended.

Fiona gave a small grunt of frustration. They had missed each other! While she was so cleverly sliding down the servants' stairwell, Shrek was no doubt bounding up the main stairway. Without another word to Donkey – or Stallion, whatever – Fiona dashed back up the steps, through the doorway, and towards the main stairway.

"SHREK!" she called again as she mounted the stairs. She tried to ignore the fatigue that was finally starting to catch up with her weaker human physique as she climbed, her eyes scanning the flights above her for any sign of Shrek – or someone who might be Shrek. Again, she tried to think of why Shrek would do such a thing.

Then it dawned on her. What she had said the day before yesterday, during their after-dinner spat. '_I've made changes for you, Shrek. Think about THAT._'

"Oh, no, Shrek!" Fiona now moaned under her breath. "I didn't mean physically! That's not the change I meant! At least, not the change I wanted _you_ to make! I meant that I'd changed my attitudes, my outlook. I'd opened myself to new possibilities, while you were still stubbornly holding onto your –" Fiona stopped her muttering. The time when she could have clarified her angry words was past. Shrek, rejected by her father and feeling spurned by his precious bride as well, had apparently decided to do away with the proud, brazen, uncouth, unabashed ogre that she had fallen in love with and replace him with somebody else, somebody he felt would be more acceptable to her father … and, he wrongfully felt, to –

"Fiona?"

Fiona had just reached the landing of one of the flights when she heard someone call her name. She turned to see a man standing on a balcony set a few yards off the landing. He was a relatively tall, stunningly handsome, well-built young man with perfectly brushed blond hair framing a face that looked like it was carved by angels. That face bore a cocky grin as he stood, propping himself with one arm against the frame of the balcony as the sunlight glistened off of him – or was that incredibly attractive visage radiating its own light? He wore a brown leather vest over an off-white shirt, brown plaid pants and brown boots, all the same color scheme albeit not all the same materials as her husband usually wore, and they fit much more stylishly than they ever did on the ogre.

"Shrek?" she ventured, taking a few tentative steps towards the Adonis.

"Aye, Fiona, it is me," the man said with a smooth, upper-class English accent as he dropped his arm and stepped towards the princess, the grin still plastered on his comely face. The _words_ might have been Shrek's, but –

"What happened to your _voice_?" Fiona asked skeptically. Something – some instinct was telling Fiona that something was wrong here, and it wasn't just the possibility that her husband had traded in his Humvee for a Rolls.

The man seemed taken aback for just a moment, then stammered, "Uhhh – the _potion_ changed a lot of things, Fiona …" He then reached out and took her now dainty left hand, whose ring finger still hosted her now smaller but still precious wedding band. Cupping her hand with an elegant, practiced confidence she didn't recall Shrek demonstrating before, he smiled and added more gently, "But not the way I feel about you."

Fiona retained her skeptical expression as her mind raced. The potion had affected his _voice_? But she could swear that she had heard Shrek's Scottish-accented voice calling her name earlier. Indeed, that was what had sent her rushing from her room. Could she possibly have heard _this_ voice instead, and somehow her mind had used some hidden facility and translated it into Shrek's familiar brogue, to better identify the source? Did that even make sense? But what other explanation was there? Donkey had said that Shrek had come in here looking for her, and now here he was. But at least Donkey still sounded like Donkey. This man neither looked nor sounded like Shrek. For that matter, he even _smelled_ different. Not that she really expected Shrek's pungent ogre odor to radiate from a humanized version of him, just as Fiona's ogress scent did not reek from her human pores. But as she got closer, Fiona detected that he was wearing strong musk-scented cologne, and his breath smelled of peppermint mouth spray.

The princess looked into this man's eyes, and noticed something else discomforting. The eyes were not the deep brown of her beloved monster. They had changed as well, and were now blue – an even lighter shade of blue than her own.

"Fiona?"

This time it was her mother's voice that called her name. Fiona turned to see her mother and father, Queen Lillian and King Harold, already dressed in their royal raiment, hurrying towards her. Their faces also bore expressions of shock and confusion. The princess wasn't surprised at their reaction. Since she assumed that her transformation had taken place overnight, then that meant this was the first time her parents had ever seen their grown daughter in human form. For the previous two days they had had to come to grips with seeing her instead in the unexpected form of an ogress. That had been a development that her mother had seemed willing to accept – or at least tolerate. But her father … Fiona still recalled with pain they way he had beheld her during a brief argument the previous morning when she had tried to find out from him where Shrek had disappeared to – the distaste in the king's face and voice when he'd beheld his ogress daughter and, referring to Shrek, spat, 'Look at what he's _done_ to you!' Well, Dad, Fiona now thought with bitter irony, come take a look at what _I've_ done to _him_.

The king did so. He and the queen stopped a few feet away. Harold, perplexed, looked at the man holding his daughter's hand. "Charming," the king said, although to Fiona it sounded oddly like a question.

The blond man – Fiona tried to force herself to think of him as Shrek now – released her hand and turned to the king. "Ah, do you think so … heh-heh-heh-heh … _Dad_?" Shrek asked, somewhat uncomfortably. Shrek then took a couple of steps closer to Harold and added more assertively, "I was so hoping you'd approve."

The king looked from Shrek to his daughter. Harold didn't ask any further questions. Did that mean he understood what had happened? If so, then Fiona would have thought he'd be happy. Yet the expression on her father's face, despite its exaggerated grin, did not reflect happiness. Instead, he looked more like he'd just swallowed a frog.

The queen, however, was still confused. "Um … who _are_ you?" she asked Shrek.

"Mom, it's me, Shrek!" he replied. "I know you never get a second chance at a first impression," he continued regretfully, "but well …" here Shrek reached around Fiona's slim waist and pulled her possessively beside him. "What do you think?"

As the king and queen exchanged befuddled glances and forced smiles, trying to digest this morning's revelations, Shrek pulled Fiona against him for an embrace. Fiona allowed herself to be so held, and even laid her head against his shoulder. But the way that their human bodies fit against each other seemed so … _unnatural_ to her … somehow _wrong_. Fiona mentally kicked herself. There was nothing wrong with this, it was just … _different_. As a human, she had never been held in an amorous embrace. Yet this was still Shrek, a Shrek who had just sacrificed so much for her. That the sacrifice was unnecessary made it tragic, but it was born of the purest and noblest of intentions. She hugged the man in her arms, trying to recall all the passionate embraces they had shared since that magical first kiss, trying to imagine the ogre inside this handsome blond human calling out to her. She even thought she could hear him in the back of her mind … that distinctive brogue calling her name, 'Fiona! Fiona!' over and over. It sounded both distant and desperate, as if he was afraid he was losing her. Well, you shall not lose me, my True Love, Fiona thought. She closed her eyes and tried again to draw from this embrace the feelings she had felt so many times before, tried to compel her soul to react. But she failed. Try as she may, it still felt too wrong. She may as well be hugging a heartless mannequin.

The embrace ended as the king and queen stepped up beside them. "So … what exactly happened?" the queen inquired.

Shrek smiled and replied, "Well, after that series of unfortunate events two days ago, I realized how selfish I was being. I mean, after all, this _is_ Fiona's home. It's where she's meant to be. I couldn't really ask her to leave all this … to leave you … for some desolate hovel out in some God-forsaken swamp."

"But Shrek … you _adore_ that swamp!" Fiona said.

"Oh, Fiona, my pet," Shrek responded, turning towards her, "that is so very sweet of you. But I realized that I couldn't let some beastly desire for hermit-like isolation separate you from your parents … and from your royal destiny." Shrek cast his gaze about in a gesture that seemed to take in the grandeur of the castle – perhaps the entire kingdom. "Nor could I in good conscious ask you to go through the humiliation of wandering about your domain as an ugly green monster, or suffer the indignity of being married to one."

Fiona's brow knitted and she opened her mouth to protest, but Shrek had turned back to the queen. "And so yesterday morning I lit out to find a cure for our wretched plight. Fortunately, M– … ah, the Fairy Godmother had left her card, and so I was able to track her down. I explained the situation and, well, she gave me a potion, which I drank. It not only transformed me into the being you see before you, but also returned my True Love to her rightful state."

Fiona's remorse was suddenly tinged by anger. "Why couldn't you have waited for me or at least awakened me and _told_ me what you wanted to do?" she half-pleaded, half-demanded. "How could you make such an important decision without me!"

"Because … I know you," Shrek said, his voice smooth and gentle, rolling like balm over her wounded pride. "You would no doubt have told me it didn't matter to you, that you wanted to be with me regardless of our appearance or acceptance by others, even your parents. You might have even managed to convince yourself you meant it. But Fiona, what kind of life would that have left us? Just the two of us, alone, despised beasts living out our days in some miserable bog, raising monstrous offspring who would have faced equal enmity when they deserved a royal heritage? How long do you think before regrets over your estrangement from your parents over our marriage would have manifested itself in strains in our own relationship? No. I needed no crystal ball to look into the future and see the hazards ahead. I _had_ to take the actions I did, Fiona, to ensure our happiness. I do apologize for not consulting you. I swear I will try whenever possible not to take such unilateral actions in the future. But believe me, what I did was for our own good – for _both_ of us."

"But … you _loved_ being an ogre," Fiona said, her voice quivering.

"I know," Shrek said. Then his smile deepened and he added, "But I love you more."

Fiona felt tears began to well in her eyes and she stared up at Shrek, speechless. Wordlessly, he reached for her and they embraced yet again. Fiona laid her head on Shrek's shoulder and closed her eyes, squeezing the tears from them. The vest upon which her cheek rested was of a softer, suppler leather than Shrek's alligator-skin vest, and she missed its coarser texture, as she missed so much else. His heavy cologne filled her nostrils, making her feel even sicker than the general situation already had. She tried to wrap her mind around it all. Shrek's words had made perfect sense … at an intellectual level. No doubt her parents – at least her father – found the logic irrefutable. But Fiona and Shrek's relationship was, and had always been, an affair of the heart. Had logic held any sway, they would never have wed; never have fallen in love, for that matter. Was Shrek's derogatory language concerning that lovely, magical, tree-hewn home in their own private paradise something he was just saying for her benefit, or something that this new, changed Shrek really felt? She prayed it was the former, but feared it was the latter. She felt more tears trickle from her eyes.

"Well done … Son!" the king said with somewhat forced joviality, stepping forward and patting Shrek on his upper arm. "Look! You've brought tears of joy to my daughter's eyes!"

The embrace ended, and Fiona looked at her father. He was shifting his gaze nervously back and forth between her and Shrek, his grinning face and cheerful demeanor still not quite masking something else that Fiona sensed was going on underneath. Or was she seeing something that wasn't there? Fiona glanced over at her mother, who had stepped forward with Harold and stood beside him. The princess saw her staring at the king with a curious expression of her own. Lillian then looked at Fiona and offered a sympathetic smile, one more genuine than Harold's and which seemed to reflect both hope and condolence.

"Thank you, Dad," Shrek said in response to Harold's remark. "Your daughter's happiness _is_ my paramount concern."

Fiona looked up into Shrek's face. He was grinning down at her with a cocky, self-assured smile, the right part of his mouth curled up noticeably more than the left. She then concentrated on his eyes. It truly wasn't just the color that was different. When Shrek looked at her she could always read emotion in his eyes; sometimes confusion, on rare occasions anger, but most often adoration. But these eyes were … empty. It was as if there was nothing behind them … or perhaps what _was_ there did not match the honeyed words and refined gestures. Fiona felt a shiver run up her spine.

Lillian then spoke. "Um, perhaps this is a conversation we should continue later –"

"Y-yes!" Harold chimed in. "We were just on our way to breakfast. Perhaps you two would care to join us? We all got off to such a bad start during dinner a couple of nights ago. Perhaps we can … begin again?"

"An excellent idea! And I would be honored … Dad," Shrek said, inclining his head slightly in a bow to the king, who in turn at first seemed to wince, then grinned and returned the gesture. Shrek then said, "Come, Fiona," and exerted some slight pressure to her back. Fiona allowed him to lead her away from the balcony and they started making their way down the hallway, the king and queen behind them.

The royal foursome made their way down the corridors to the dining hall, the scene of that terrible dinner argument two days before. Oddly, Fiona had to correct Shrek from taking a wrong turn a couple of times. True, he had not been around the castle very long, but still, Fiona had thought he had better memory – unless the potion affected that as well. It seemed to have affected his bearing, too, as he now walked with stringent upright poise, his strides measured and seemingly practiced. He kept one arm draped across Fiona's back with his hand on her waist opposite him. Normally Fiona took comfort from Shrek's touch; but now she found it somehow set her even more on edge, as if he was not showing his affection as much as leading her about as one would a prize horse.

They finally rounded the corner to the last corridor to the dining hall. Both dark brown paneled walls of the corridor were decorated with several portraits of other kings and queens of Fiona's lineage.

"Imagine, my love" Shrek said, gesturing to the artwork as they strolled, "now, one day your beautiful face will grace this hallway, as is your birthright. I can't tell you of how ashamed I am that I nearly robbed you of it."

Fiona said nothing. A second later the couple passed not a portrait, but a portrait-sized mirror. Shrek halted, his grip along Fiona's waist halting her as well. He then turned toward the mirror so that he and Fiona were facing it together. "There, you see?" Shrek said, smiling and striking a pose with her. "Won't this make a lovely painting for future generations to gaze upon?" A moment later, however, his smile turned into a frown. "Hum," he mumbled, then leaned forward to get a closer look at himself. He examined his teeth, licked one side of his perfectly set pearly whites clean, and then leaned back again. He straightened a slightly askew strand of hair, and then struck a wide-grinned pose as he beheld his reflection with apparent self-satisfaction.

Fiona – her brow slightly wrinkled, her nostrils slightly flared, and her top lip slightly curled in unconscious signs of disapproval – watched as Shrek admired himself. She had seen her husband – her ogre husband – smile into mirrors before, sometimes with the immediate result of a self-shattering looking glass, but never with such blatant, unbounded egotism.

"Yes, you two do make a marvelous looking pair! A wonderful couple!" Harold agreed with his son-in-law, but with a touch too much enthusiasm. Both Fiona and Lillian looked at the king with one eyebrow cocked in identical expressions of curiosity. Harold blushed slightly and said, "Well, uh, perhaps we should continue on to breakfast, wot wot?"

Fiona shook her head slightly and looked up at Shrek. He was still admiring himself.

"Shrek?" she asked.

"Hum?" he responded distractedly, his eyes still focused on his reflection.

"Breakfast?"

"Huh? Oh! Of course!" the prince said, and then pulled his gaze from the mirror with apparent reluctance.

As Fiona stared into Shrek's face, searching in vain for something that reminded her of her ogrid spouse, Lillian was still staring at her own husband, her lips pursed in contemplation. The queen then addressed Fiona and Shrek. "You two go ahead. Harold and I will be there shortly. We need to have a brief word first. In private."

Harold seemed to wince a bit, but continued smiling that oddly unconvincing smile at the newlyweds. "Er, of course," he said. "You two go on. We'll be along by and by."

"Very well, Mom. We'll see you soon," Shrek said, bowed slightly to her, then again slipped his arm around Fiona's back and resumed leading her down the corridor. Fiona looked back at her parents, her face again twisted in confusion at her father's demeanor and her husband's uncharacteristic behavior compounded by her irrational, continued discomfiture with Shrek's touch. Her pace began to slow, and again Shrek pulled her forcibly beside him. Fiona turned her face towards him, and was about to mouth a protest when Shrek whispered, "Please, my love. Your mother asked us to go ahead so that she might have some private words with your father. We must show respect and do what our mothers request."

Fiona's eyes narrowed as she looked up at him – or rather, his profile, as he was now staring straight ahead – but after a moment decided to stifle her protest. She supposed what he said made sense. In fact, much of what he _said_ this morning made sense. So why did everything _feel_ so wrong?

Fiona shifted her attention forward as well, and she and Shrek wordlessly finished their trek to the dining hall. As her husband opened a door to the dark-word paneled eating chamber and they stepped inside, Fiona found herself giving yet another start at a new surprise. The chair at the head of the large rectangular table was already occupied. Fiona recognized the occupant from their short meeting the night of her and Shrek's after-dinner argument; the somewhat stocky figure, the silver hair done up in a bun and lightly sprinkled with glitter, the slim glasses, the pale blue dress and the gossamer wings.

It was her Fairy Godmother.


	2. Your Troubles Will Soon Be Gone

Layer 2: Your Troubles Will Soon Be Gone

"Fairy Godmother!" Fiona gasped, surprised.

"Sweet pea!" the Godmother said, her pleasant face breaking into a benevolent smile. Her wings sprang into life and she flitted from the chair and landed in front of Fiona and her husband. "Or should I say, Your Highnesses," she continued, and curtseyed to the two of them.

Shrek's face broke into a self-assured grin as he bowed back, but Fiona, forgetting protocol, could only ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Why, I just wanted to make sure, now that you've seen each other in your new forms in the light of day, that you're happy with the results of the potion," the Godmother replied, gesturing between the prince and princess with her wand. Fiona noticed that the star-shaped tip of that wand began to emanate a dull glow. She found herself wanting to stare at it, but pulled her eyes from it and looked instead at the Godmother.

"Actually, Fairy Godmother," Fiona began, "I appreciate what you did, but –"

"After all," the Godmother continued, flitting back into the air and resting one hand on Shrek's arm, "I must say, your husband has turned out to be quite a handsome man, don't you think?"

"Oh, indeed!" Fiona agreed, her eyes shifting between Godmother and Shrek. "It's just that –" Fiona then noticed their eyes. Both Shrek's and the Godmother's eyes were the exact same shade of light blue. How odd, the princess thought.

Just then, Fiona's gaze was again drawn to the wand. Its star tip had begun glowing a bit brighter.

"You should have seen your husband, Princess," the Godmother said. "Showing up at my office, anxious to find some way to make you happy. I saw him in right away, of course. He then told me the sad tale of how you had sacrificed your beauty to be with him, had even offered to spend your life in that dreadful swamp if it would please him, despite your royal birthright and responsibilities."

"I –" Fiona began, trying to formulate an objection. But she was suddenly having trouble formulating _any_ coherent thoughts. Her eyes remained transfixed on the wand's star tip, whose glow continued to increase in intensity. As it did, in her mind's eye Fiona thought she actually _could_ see the ogre Shrek standing there, in front of the Godmother, head downcast. Fiona then saw him pick his chin up as the Godmother handed him a bottle of potion. Shrek began to draw the bottle to his lips. But then Fiona remembered something, despite the dissipating coherence of her thought process. Something that made this scene not quite right.

"But … what about … Donkey? He … changed, too," Fiona said, finding it a bit of a struggle both to compose the question and voice it.

"Donkey?" Shrek asked. "_What_ donkey?"

Somewhere in Fiona's dimming mind an alarm went off. She managed somehow to pull her eyes away from the shimmering wand – an effort that felt like she was single-handedly pulling a drawbridge up by its chain – and looked at Shrek. "What … do you mean … _what_ Donkey?" she said, the fog in her mind starting to lift. "_Donkey_! _Our_ Donkey. Our …"

From the periphery of her vision Fiona noticed the glow of the wand increasing yet again … and she felt herself being drawn back to it. She tried to resist, but her resistance was short lived. She found she could no more prevent her gaze from being drawn back to the wand than a compass needle could defy pointing northward.

With the now brilliantly glowing wand filling Fiona's field of vision, the Godmother explained, "It was … your husband's idea, bless his soul. He … wanted to reward your donkey for all his loyal service, and so he insisted on sharing the potion with him. Quite a commendable gesture, I thought."

"But … why … Shrek … not … remember …" Fiona stammered. She wasn't even sure anymore whether she was speaking words now or just thinking them … in what currently passed for thinking.

"Shrek is confused, sweetheart. After all, you've been in this position before. You've been shape-shifting between that horrid ogress and your beautiful self all your life. It's different for Shrek, and quite a shock to his system. He's trying to adjust mentally, not just physically. He needs your help, Fiona. He needs the help of the woman that loves him. You do love him, don't you?"

"Of … course … but …"

"Then you must show patience, sweet pea. But think of the rewards! After all, the way he looks now … isn't this the man you've been pining for … waiting for … all your life? Isn't this the prince of your dreams?"

Fiona wasn't really seeing the wand anymore; just a bright, white, dazzling light filling her entire field of vision. The prince of her dreams. Yes. She remembered those dreams. Growing up. Her fantasies of a handsome, blond, heroic figure riding up to rescue her from the castle – and from that curse. That dreaded curse. That frightful enchantment. That handsome prince! That happily ever after. Yes. He and her and her parents, all together, all happy, for always. No conflicts. No disagreements. No differences. No need to fight. No need to argue. No need to think. Happiness. Forever. Mrs. Fiona Charming. Yes. Charming. He was charming. He was everything she dreamed of. Now. Now that he was no longer that ogre. That dreadful ogre. That horrible, ugly beast. He was gone. The beast was gone. Slain like the toy ogre on her bedroom shelf. Slain by the toy knight. Her knight. Her prince. Her charming prince. Her Prince Charming. Yes. That ogre was gone. And the ogress was gone. Gone. Prince Charming. Her dream. Here. Now. Together. Forever.

Shrek – the ogre – was fading. In her mind, he was fading. His ugly green image was washing out, being cleansed from her mind. In its stead, the image of the broadly smiling, confident face of this new, bold, handsome human was taking its place. Now, in addition to her thoughts, Fiona felt her emotions changing, as if they were being kneaded into a different shape by unseen hands. She began to feel the same distaste towards Shrek's – and her – ogre selves as she had once before. And she felt the draw of Shrek's new, handsome visage. If he were acting differently now, what of it? Why worry about that? He was gorgeous! Dreamy! He had a face to die for, and a taut body that was the envy of every knight in the kingdom. Fiona felt herself mentally slipping back, emotionally regressing, as layers of maturity, of hard-won lessons of love, acceptance and appreciation were being peeled away. A part of her wanted this. A part of her yearned for this. It was so much simpler. So much easier to deal with. No more inner turmoil, as she had had to deal with since their arrival. No more having to balance her love for her parents against her love for Shrek. Now, Mom and Dad approved and Fiona had the man she'd always dreamed of. It was for the best. Just accept it. Everybody wins. Everybody … except for …

No. This wasn't right. Fiona felt as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice, about to fall, and some unseen hand from somewhere had stayed her from taking the fateful plunge. Now it started pulling her back. Shrek – this new Shrek – might be charming, but he was not the man she had fallen in love with. The _ogre_ she had fallen in love with. With effort, Fiona started pulling the images of her ogrid spouse back into her mind – from the moment he had crashed through the stone roof of her tower room through the painful memories of the day before last. With the memories, back came the emotions, with all their hues and complexities. Most of all, there was love. Love so much stronger than her little girl infatuation with her fantasy prince. Love so strong that it was able to fight whatever it was that was trying to make over her mindset into something more acceptable to everybody else. A special love, more powerful than this magical spell, for it was itself the most magical thing of all: True Love.

But it was not an easy fight. As Fiona pulled away from this spell, she felt it trying to pull her back, to force her back to the precipice. She began to feel like Dragon during the princess's rescue, trapped by a chain that bound her to the castle. Only this chain was made of very strong rubber. But Fiona continued to fight. She pulled harder. Harder. She didn't know how much of her ogre husband was left in the blond human, but she would not have her memory of the true Shrek altered, especially if that was all that remained of him. Plus, Fiona didn't like having someone intrude into her mind and tinkering with it. The violation made her angry. Very angry. The force of her anger aided the power of her love, and gave her the last bit of strength she needed to snap the chain. The spell shattered abruptly, and Fiona was suddenly free. But her triumph had squeezed every ounce of mental strength out of her, and she fainted into the blond prince's arms just as her parents entered the room. Whereas all was light just a moment before, now all faded to blackness as Fiona lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

"Fiona?" 

Fiona slowly and groggily opened her eyes, and immediately squinted as they were invaded by sunlight. Through the dizzying glare and the fog of her mind she thought she could make out the dim, very blurry outline of a face. It was a huge face, green, with ear stalks springing from either side.

"Shrek," Fiona whispered, her lips curling into a little smile.

"Aye, Fiona, it is me," a voice answered from the direction of the face. But again, it was not Shrek's brogue. Slowly the blurry image began to sharpen. The ear stalks receded, the face grew smaller, and its green hue morphed into a ruddy peach color. Soon Fiona found herself looking up into the distinct features of the new Shrek, her handsome blond prince.

Fiona's smile vanished, and she closed her eyes again. "Oh, Shrek," she moaned.

"Aye," he said again, and she felt him gently take her left hand and cup it in both of his. "I'm right here, my love."

Fiona opened her eyes again and took in the situation as the last wisps of fog cleared from her mind. She was back in her bedroom, lying atop the covers of her canopied bed, still clothed. Shrek sat on the edge of the bed beside her, holding her hand, looking down at her with a smile not quite as cocky as before and an expression that seemed to relate true concern. Behind him, anxiously looking over his shoulder, were the king and queen. Their expressions, too, relayed worry, and in the case of her father – was that a touch of _guilt_ she was picking up? Why would that be? Perhaps because his fight with Shrek had helped lead to all this? Yes, that made sense. Then Fiona noticed one other person in the room. Behind her parents, flitting in the air so as to better see the princess, hovered the Fairy Godmother. Her expression also seemed to betray dual emotions, concern and – apprehension? What prompted that, Fiona didn't know, and frankly, at this point, she didn't really care.

"Fiona, are you all right?" her mother asked.

"Yes. Yes, I'm all right," Fiona replied. She closed her eyes again and raised her right hand to her right temple, trying to recall why she was in bed like this. "What happened?"

"You passed out, darling," Harold replied. "When your mother and I entered the dinner chamber, you had just fainted dead away."

"I did?" Fiona asked, opening her eyes but squinting. "I don't remember that."

"What _do_ you recall, sweat pea?" the Fairy Godmother inquired, still smiling benevolently but with an odd, anxious edge in her voice. She seemed to be unconsciously wringing the wand in her hands.

Fiona closed her eyes yet again and rubbed her temple, trying to recall her last conscious thoughts before awakening here. "I … I remember Shrek and I entering the breakfast chamber, and meeting Fairy Godmother. And then …" Fiona tried hard to think.

"Yes?" the Godmother urged.

Fiona sighed resignedly, opened her eyes and lowered her right arm. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't remember anything after that. It's all blank."

The princess's pronouncement prompted an interesting mix of reactions. Shrek and the Fairy Godmother both seemed suddenly relieved for some reason. Harold at first looked as relieved as they, but then cast his eyes downward, that odd guilty expression deepening. Lillian, instead of appearing relieved, looked even more concerned.

"Well … that's … to be expected!" the Godmother said, suddenly chipper. "You see, my dear, I'm afraid such fainting spells are one of the side effects of the potion."

"What!" Fiona and Lillian said together, gawking at the Fairy Godmother. Shrek and Harold also looked towards her, but remained silent.

"Oh, don't worry. It's a perfectly benign reaction," the Godmother assured them. "Very rare, also. I'm surprised it happened at all. But I'm confident that it won't happen again."

"Are you _sure_?" Lillian asked dubiously.

"I'd stake my reputation on it, Your Majesty. And you know how valuable _that_ is in this kingdom," the Godmother said with a voice as smooth as velvet.

"Indeed," Lillian conceded, but her voice still held some concern. "I just worry about Fiona."

"She'll be absolutely fine, I assure you," the Godmother said. "She and Shrek may move forward now, enjoying the happily ever after they so richly deserve." She then looked longingly at the balcony window. "Well, if I'm no longer needed here, I have to get back to my factory. I must oversee the finishing touches to some especially sensitive potions I'm brewing, concoctions rather more potent than simpler methods of enchantment." She seemed to glance unconsciously and accusingly at her wand for the briefest of moments, then smiled even more deeply at the group in general and continued, "So I bid you all adieu –"

"No! Wait!" Fiona called, and pulled herself up to a sitting position on the bed beside Shrek. "Shrek's behavior … it's so different from before –"

"Oh, sweetheart, you already asked that," the Godmother said, then smiled sweetly. "But of course, that's part of what you don't remember. As I said then, Shrek is confused. After all, you've been in this position before. You've been shape-shifting between that horrid ogress and your beautiful self all your life. It's different for Shrek, and quite a shock to his system. He's trying to adjust mentally, not just physically. He needs your help, Fiona. He needs the help of the woman that loves him. You do love him, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Fiona replied with mild indignation … and she felt a twinge of deja vu. The Fairy Godmother's words also sounded vaguely familiar and … somehow rehearsed. The princess tried again to think back to earlier, but when she did so she felt a pain in her head that nearly rivaled the one in her heart.

"Then you must show patience, sweet pea. Your husband needs your help and understanding now. Remember your vow, 'for better or for worse'. And who can deny that this is for the better?"

Fiona remained silent. The Fairy Godmother smiled sweetly once more, then flitted towards the open window of the balcony.

Suddenly Shrek called after her. "Errrr … do you anticipate any other … potential problems … Fairy Godmother?"

"Don't worry, dear," the Godmother replied. "Your problems and troubles are as gone as if they'd walked out the front door and into oblivion."

The Fairy Godmother flashed Shrek a brief, cocky grin – oddly like the one Fiona had seen adorn this human Shrek's face every so often. In fact, Shrek now returned it to the Godmother in kind. The Godmother then turned back to the open window, placed two fingers in her mouth, and whistled loudly. An instant later her ornate pink flying carriage, with that thin, dark-haired chauffeur Kyle driving it, screeched to a hovering halt just off the balcony, kicking up a cloud of pink fairy dust. The passenger door magically opened.

The Fairy Godmother turned back to address the royal group. "Prince Shrek still has my card if you need anything further," she said. "But I'm sure everything will be fine now. I look forward to seeing you all tonight at the ball. Until then – " here she curtseyed to the king and queen, "Your Majesties."

Harold and Lillian nodded back.

The Fairy Godmother then curtseyed to Shrek and Fiona. "Your Highnesses."

Fiona inclined her head in response, and noticed Shrek nodding back as well, his head slightly and stylishly askew. There was an ease and confidence in his gesture that surprised Fiona, who would have expected more awkwardness or discomfiture from the former ogre. Then again, perhaps she had underestimated Shrek here, as she had underestimated him so many times before. Perhaps.

The Fairy Godmother straightened, gave them all one last, confident smile – one that seemed to linger briefly on Shrek – and then flew into the carriage. The door immediately closed behind her, and a split second later the carriage had sped off, leaving a shimmering trail of fairy dust in its wake.

A few moments later the king, queen, and Shrek shifted their eyes from the balcony back to Fiona. She suddenly felt quite self-conscious and more than a bit claustrophobic.


	3. Breaking Fast

Layer 3: Breaking Fast

* * *

Copyright note: The lyrics to the song _I Don't Know Why_ that appear in this layer are by Amy Grant. The song itself appears in her album _Simple Things_.

* * *

"Well, uh, shall we head off to breakfast, then?" the king suggested. 

Fiona was rather tired of the subject of breakfast. "I'm not hungry," she stated, pulling her hand away from Shrek and pushing herself up off the bed, prompting Shrek to stand as well. The princess took a few steps into the middle of the room, feeling like she had to put some distance between herself and the others lest she suffocate.

From behind her Fiona heard her mother object, "But, Fiona! You haven't had anything in your stomach since night before last!"

"Th-that's right, darling," Harold stammered agreement. "You really should eat."

Something in the king's well-intentioned words nevertheless pricked one of Fiona's frazzled nerves, and the distraught princess spun around to face him, reacting before thinking. "Oh? But Dad, isn't this how your precious princess daughter is expected to look?" she taunted, holding her arms out from her sides and modeling her attractive figure. "If I eat … why, then I might gain weight! We can't have _that_ now, can we?"

The king's awkward smile faded. Her words had struck home. He apparently realized that she was referring to their confrontation the previous morning, when he had looked with disgust upon her homely and rotund ogress form and said those hurtful words. Now Harold simply dropped his eyes and then looked away in shame, the seemingly forced joviality of his countenance yielding to a more genuine expression of remorse. It was a remorse that seemed to reflect something deeper than regret over his unfortunate utterances of the day before. Fiona dropped her arms and immediately started feeling regret at her own words even before Lillian's sharply reproachful, "FIONA!"

"You're right, Mom. I … I'm sorry, Dad" Fiona apologized sincerely. Harold looked up at her and smiled wanly. Fiona opened her mouth and began to say something else, but felt a catch in her throat. She quickly turned away, bowed her head and crossed her arms. "I … just need some time to … digest all this." She explained meekly.

"Ummmm … perhaps a compromise is in order," Shrek ventured. "Why don't Fiona and I stay here so that we might … discuss the new situation, just her and I … and the servants can simply bring some breakfast to us?"

"Uh – yes – that sounds like a splendid idea," the king agreed, albeit without enthusiasm. "Fiona? Darling? What do you think?"

"Fine," she sighed resignedly, her back still to the group.

"What would you like to eat?" Harold asked.

She shrugged. "I'll just have a bran muffin."

"But Fiona," Lillian said. "You really should have some fruit or something to go with that."

"Then I'll have a _raisin_ bran muffin," Fiona replied dryly.

"Fiooona," Lillian said, another rebuke – although a minor one – in her tone.

Fiona turned back around again. "I'm sorry," she said to her parents. "I'm … not quite myself today. Perhaps I'll act less … like an ogre … later." She then turned away from them again and walked out onto the balcony.

Fiona propped her elbows on the balcony's stone railing and looked about her. The morning sky was bright and sunny, seeming to hold out much promise for the day ahead. Except for a few small puddles, all evidence of the sudden and fierce rainstorm that had engulfed the kingdom the evening before had vanished. And soon those puddles too, she knew, would evaporate away, leaving everything looking pleasant and pristine, just the way people in this kingdom liked it.

Fiona glanced to her left at the giant letters set into the side of a nearby hill that made up the kingdom's signature 'Far Far Away' sign. She frowned. So ostentatious, she thought. So showy. And so odd that she should think so. She didn't remember having such thoughts before, when growing up. Back then, the sign impressed her. But now, things had changed. She was different. She wondered how much of that difference was due to her own maturity, and how much of it was due to Shrek's influence.

Shrek had never consciously tried to change her. He had just gone on being himself, either assuming or hoping she'd share his interests and likes. And he was right. She did. Once she stopped fretting about what people thought of her or expected of her and opened her heart and mind and started being herself, it was remarkable how similar they were. She wondered if it surprised him as much as it did her. Of course, that was then. This was now. Things had changed.

Fiona looked away from the sign, and instead gazed over to her right. She peered over the castle walls and followed Romeo drive – awash with the traffic of pedestrians, equestrians, wagons, and carriages – as it wove its way down through the wooded hills, past a few stray houses and mansions, and eventually into the main town with its many busy businesses and tourist attractions. The people she saw were all too far away and too occupied with their own affairs to notice their princess looking down upon them from her balcony.

All, that was, except for one.

She spied the stranger standing along the road in a tiny clearing between some trees, a couple of hundred yards down the road from the castle drawbridge. He was turned so that he was facing the castle – actually, he seemed to be facing _her_. Fiona gave a little involuntary gasp – then chided herself. Whoever it was, he was surely just looking over the castle, admiring the huge and magnificent edifice. He was probably a tourist. But after a moment, she realized that whoever it was, he didn't _seem_ to be looking over the castle – he just seemed to be staring at this one spot – _her_ spot. Fiona felt an odd, inexplicable tingling. She squinted, trying to make out the figure, wishing for her superior ogrid eyesight back. From what she _was_ able to make out, he seemed relatively tall, broad-framed, with very dark brown hair. But that was the extent of what she could determine from this distance. As she stared more intensely, he suddenly lowered his head, then stepped out of the little clearing and back onto the part of the road where she could no longer see him for the trees.

"Fiona?"

Startled by the sound of Shrek's voice – Shrek's _new_ voice – the princess gave another little gasp and spun back towards her bedroom – and found herself staring directly up into his face. He smiled down at her with that cocky smile, and Fiona felt herself blushing in embarrassment, although for the life of her she didn't know what she should be embarrassed about.

"Your parents are gone, now," he said. "It's just you and …" Shrek trailed off as he beheld her, and his smiling face morphed into an expression of concern. "Are you all right, darling?" he asked, reaching up to take her shoulders in his hands. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Oh … no … I'm fine," she said, feeling oddly guilty. "I just feel so … overwhelmed by everything today."

The smiled returned to Shrek's face. "That's understood, dearest," he said. "But your terrible adventures are all over, now. You're back home. You'll re-acclimate yourself soon enough, I'm sure. It's in your blood."

Shrek squeezed her shoulders affectionately, then released her and strode forward so that he was standing by the balcony railing beside her. He looked all about him, his expression at first one of awe, then a broad smile played across his face. "Great Heavens, Fiona! What a magnificent, glorious palace this is! Yours is surely the most envied kingdom in all the land!" He then looked down upon the same traffic of humanity that Fiona had been watching. His smile mutated into something else – almost a sneer. "Look at them," he said. "They look like ants down there, scurrying about on their little errands, trying to keep their heads above water as they play out their pathetic, hum-drum lives. Ants, indeed. And one day, Fiona, you shall be their queen. And I –" Shrek unconsciously tilted his head back and puffed his chest out haughtily. "I shall be –" Shrek glanced down at her and, seeming to catch the astonished expression on her face, quickly assumed a more humble posture as he concluded, "– honored to be of any assistance I can."

Fiona just stared at him for a few seconds. "You _have_ changed," she eventually muttered. Then, after sparing a brief, almost involuntary glance at the now empty spot where she had seen the dark-haired stranger, she turned and went back into her bedroom.

"I'm sorry, darling," Shrek said, flustered. "But … isn't this what you always wanted? Isn't this what you were taught to expect growing up?"

Fiona turned to face him and had just opened her mouth to answer when suddenly an idea dawned on her like an epiphany. Of course! That explained everything! Her troubled, disgruntled features melted into relief, and then into coyness.

"You can stop the pretense," she teased. "I'm onto you, now. I know what you did."

Her blond companion's face flushed bright red in embarrassment and guilt. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stammered.

His reaction only confirmed her suspicions. She giggled.

"My diary, silly!" she replied. "I know you read my diary! All those passages about what life would be like after I was rescued from Dragon's castle. 'Mrs. Fiona Charming.'" She laughed dismissively. "It's what you think I still want, isn't it, Shrek?"

This time it was Shrek's turn to gawk at his spouse, his mouth slightly ajar. Eventually he was able to stutter, "You … mean … it's not?"

"I know I should be furious at you for having read it unbidden," she said. "But … oh, Shrek!" Fiona suddenly dashed the few feet between them and threw herself against him. She closed her eyes and buried her head against his shoulder while wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I was just an obsessed little girl when I wrote those things, infatuated with the shallow image of an idealized prince. But you … you've made me a woman, Shrek. And you've shown me that true beauty, nobility, and gallantry lies within the soul."

Shrek tentatively wrapped his arms around her, then embraced her as well. "So … you … um … figured me out, did you?" he asked. "Um … am I … that transparent?"

"Oh, Shrek," Fiona sighed, then leaned back in his embrace, reached up with her left hand and cupped his right cheek. She examined his face for a moment, her expression like that of someone beholding the disfigured countenance of a loved one who'd been scarred in battle. "I'm so sorry. What I said the other night … I didn't mean for you to do this. I didn't _want_ you to do this."

"There, there, Fiona," Shrek said, reaching up and taking her hand in his, then patting it comfortingly. He seemed to have recovered his composure. "If what you say is true … I mean, of _course_ what you say is true … and so what does it matter what we look like on the outside?"

Fiona's mouth contorted into a small, sad, rueful grin. "I'm afraid it matters to my parents," she said. "You were right. My appearance … my ogre appearance … did shock them, like it shocked everybody else. And when you made that 'country club' quip … I said they weren't like that, but then there I was at that dinner, trying to make you out into some sort of land baron so you'd … so _we'd_ … have more respect in their eyes. Or at least my father's. Mom was more tolerant, but still … Well, anyway, you were so sweet to try to play along, even then. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, my pet, think nothing of it," Shrek said. "Besides, as you said, since our appearance _does_ matter to your parents, this may work out for the best after all. We all seem to be getting along rather well now, don't you think?"

"That's true," she conceded. "Although my father is acting so strangely … and so deferentially."

"Well … perhaps that's his way of dealing with this … most unusual situation," Shrek suggested. "Besides, he may be feeling guilty for the way he acted when we first arrived, and this is his way of expressing it."

"Perhaps," Fiona said, although she was far from convinced.

"So, you see?" Shrek asked. "If being in these human forms makes it easier for them, and for your subjects, then what difference does it make?"

"But Shrek! It makes a difference to _us_. We should be true to _ourselves_. I mean, inside, we're still ogres!"

Shrek raised a surprised eyebrow. "_We_?" he repeated. "Fiona … surely you're not saying that _you_ still think of yourself as an ogre, are you? Or that you'd actually _prefer_ that form?"

Fiona endured Shrek's incredulous expression for a few moments, then turned away. She wandered toward the fireplace, head bowed in thought. Her eyes chanced upon the toy figurines sitting on the mantle – the knight, the princess, the ogre – and another rueful smile played upon her lips. She turned back to face him again.

"That's part of why you took that potion to change us, isn't it?" she asked. "During our argument, when I said 'I made changes for you', you thought I was expressing regret. That I was blaming you for turning me into a full-time beast."

"Well … I … um …" he flailed about, apparently at a loss for how to respond.

"It's okay," she said softly. "I don't mean to put you on the spot. What I said that night … I said in anger and frustration. And maybe … maybe I did mean it that way … along with that stupid 'you're acting like an ogre' quip. I was … confused that night. I so wanted us all to get along, all the family that I love, as one loving family. I mean, isn't that what happily ever after is mostly about?"

Shrek didn't answer right away; from his expression he seemed to be pondering whether the question was rhetorical. Fiona sighed and turned back to the mantle. She reached over and touched the princess figurine as she had that night – only this time she touched it with a hand as pristine and delicate as the doll's own. "And so maybe I _was_ pining for a simpler situation, where everyone's original expectations were met and there were no conflicts to rend us apart. For a time, maybe I was wishing for that picture-perfect world of my diary, without the complications inherent in our … unconventional marriage."

"But, darling," Shrek said. "That's what you have now. We're still together, but now we've eliminated those 'complications' that stood in the way of happiness."

Fiona turned back towards him. "But it's 'those complications' that make up our relationship! The animal balloons and the weedrats and the mudbaths and that beautiful swamp home – that's what we're about, Shrek! In sharing things like that with you … things in your – in _our_ – ogre natures … _that's_ where our happiness lies!"

Shrek stood, his mouth agape, gazing at Fiona as if she had suddenly grown a second head.

"I wish you wouldn't stare at me that way," Fiona said, embarrassed and somewhat irritated.

Shrek shook his head slightly, breaking his brief reverie, then explained, "I'm sorry, dearest. But … I'm really rather surprised. I mean … I had thought that being back in your human form … a form which truly meets the description of 'beauty divine', if you don't mind my saying so … would have been your preference."

Fiona sighed. "Not too terribly long ago … and for many years … you don't know how right you would have been," she admitted. "And although our relationship shattered my preconceptions, I admit that being back here with my parents, back in my old home – in my old _room_, for that matter – shook what I thought were my newfound convictions. Suddenly I was torn between being your ogress wife, with the confidence and self-esteem you helped inspire … and being my parents' daughter, with the self-doubts and feelings of inadequacy they – well, mostly my father – made me feel when in ogre form. So after yesterday morning when I couldn't find you anywhere, I came back to this room and did a lot of soul-searching. Just who was I? _What_ was I? Where did my true nature lie?"

Shrek cocked a curious eyebrow and took a seat on the edge of the bed. "And what conclusions did you draw?" he asked.

Fiona reflected on her long period of internal, emotional struggle from the day before, then a small smile played upon her lips "I didn't _draw_ them," she eventually replied, "I _sang_ them."

"Pardon?" Shrek asked, somewhat bewildered.

"After a long time – hours, really – of reflecting on everything that's happened to us, and before that to me, I was reminded of a song. It mostly seemed to fit, and so I sang it. It helped steady my resolve. As soon as I finished, I sat my tiara down on that desk – " here she gestured to her writing desk, left over from her childhood, upon which now sat her tiara beside her diary "– packed a bag and went down to tell my parents I was going out to find you and then we were going home." She blushed a little, then asked shyly, "Would you like to hear it?"

"Hear … what, darling?" he asked, apparently confused again.

Fiona looked back over at him. "The _song_," she replied, somewhat annoyed. Shrek usually wasn't this dense.

"Oh! Uh, certainly!" he stammered, and then his face broke into a smile. He leaned back and folded his hands in his lap, apparently waiting for her to start.

Fiona shook her head slightly. Then she closed her eyes for a moment, recalling the situation – her thoughts and feelings – from the day before. Then she opened her eyes, looked at Shrek, and began to sing.

"This is one of those moments when all that really matters … is crystal clear.

We are woven together by whatever threads of life that have … brought us here.

We are stripped of all our layers.

We are getting to the core.

Tell me something real, and nothing … moooore."

Fiona felt a touch of discomfort. Shrek watched her, a polite smile on his face. But that's all it seemed to be: polite. Aside from that, his countenance remained static, almost plastic. She had hoped for more reaction – a chuckle at the reference to 'layers', if nothing else. Nevertheless, she pressed on to the chorus.

"'Cause I don't know why.

I don't know how.

I don't know where.

Baby all I know is now."

Shrek continued watching her with that placid, nearly disinterested expression. Frustration pricked Fiona's nerves. She turned away and wandered towards her bookcase, again trying to retrieve her feelings from the day before. It was easier when she wasn't facing him. After a moment, she idly ran a finger across some volumes of histories and fairytales sitting on one of the shelves as she began the next verse.

"So I'm here between the bookends of everything that was and … what will be.

There's a wealth of information, but not so many answers … it seems to me.

So I face the unfamiliar, and nothing is clear.

Only blinding faith can carry me from … heeeere.

And I don't know why.

I don't know how.

I don't know where.

Baby all I know is now."

Fiona's finger stopped as it came to rest against a picture she had propped on the bookshelf as they were unpacking. It was a picture taken shortly after their wedding. She and Shrek, ogress and ogre, were standing side-by-side, beaming blissfully contented smiles at the camera, he with one arm behind her, his hand resting on her broad hip, and she with one hand resting on his ample stomach. They were so happy then. Fiona had to choke back a sob, but then she concluded the song, her eyes fixed on the picture, her voice strong and emotional.

"Hold my hand and hold this moment.

Time sure feels precious, don't it?

Life is always changing, this I … knoooow.

I don't know why …

I don't know how …

I don't know where …

Maybe all I know is now.

Maybe all I know is … noooow."

Fiona sighed, pried her eyes away from the picture, looked back over at Shrek – and then gaped. He wasn't even paying attention to her. He sat there, an emery board in one hand, his full concentration on filing the nails of the other hand until he had them just right. After a moment he held out the hand whose nails he hand been filing, fingers splayed upwards, and examined his work. His mouth broke into a self-satisfied grin.

"Shrek!" Fiona gasped.

Shrek looked up at her, his concentration broken. It took a moment for him to focus on her, but then he smiled and said, "I'm sorry, dear. Are you finished?"

Fiona gawked at him for a few moments – not quite believing either his inattentive reaction or his sudden concern for personal grooming – then she just nodded.

"Ah, well," Shrek said, rising from the bed, "at least you know that's all behind us, now."

"What?"

"No more painful decisions, darling," Shrek said wandering over towards her. He stopped before her, smiled again, and gave her a brief peck on the cheek to which Fiona was still too stunned to react. He then reached down to the desk, picked up her tiara, and turned it over in his hands, examining it. "You needn't choose between your destinies," he said. "They're both one, now. As it was meant to be."

"But … we belong –"

"With each other," Shrek finished for her. "Whether that be in a swamp, or –" Shrek took a few moments to settle the tiara back atop Fiona's head, adjusting it so it sat just right, and then continued "– or in a gilded palace. Come."

Shrek led Fiona, who was still somewhat stunned, over to the mirror where she had first glimpsed her human form that morning. Now he stood beside her and put his arm around her as they gazed into it together.

"There!" he said. "That is what people will see. A handsome couple, with appearances that fit their station and placate the people's expectations. _And_ your father's. Who _cares_ what we're like on the inside, eh? That's none of their concern."

Fiona stared at their image for a few seconds; his jaunty, smiling face, and her own ashen countenance and shell-shocked expression. "So … that's the future for us, then?" she asked. "Life as a charade?"

"Unfortunately, love," he replied, "sometimes, to get what we want in the long run, charades are necessary, however repugnant we find them to be at the time." As Shrek finished that thought his face took on an expression of distaste that, if nothing else, seemed to be genuine; which was more than Fiona could say for certain fitted many of Shrek's recent expressions. She was just opening her mouth to respond when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Shrek called, turning towards the door.

"Your breakfast, Your Highness," came the response from the other side. The voice intoned a French accent.

"Ah, excellent!" Shrek said, striding over to the door. He opened it and a chubby middle-aged man with a thin moustache dressed in chef's attire wheeled in a small table upon which sat two covered plates, four glasses, a bottle of orange juice, and a bottle of milk, along with fine silverware and embroidered napkins. Entering the room behind the man was a thinner, younger servant carrying two folding chairs.

"Where would you like this set up, Your Highness?" the chef asked.

Shrek thought for a moment, then replied, "Out on the balcony. The view of the kingdom is breathtaking from there."

Fiona noticed that again Shrek did not consult her. She sighed quietly.

The chef wheeled the table out onto the balcony. Once he stopped, the younger servant quickly set the chairs up on either side of it. The chef then lifted the covers from off the food, revealing a soft boiled egg in an egg cup with some toast on one platter, and a large raisin bran muffin on the other. The chef then bowed theatrically and announced with a flourish, "Voila! Breakfast is served!"

Shrek walked over to the table and examined the layout. "Yes, it all looks very good. Thank you. You may leave now."

"Oui, Your Highness," the chef said, bowing again. The other servant bowed deeply as well. Shrek paid them no mind, taking a seat as the two other men quickly and quietly left the room.

Shrek took one of the napkins, flapped it open and then spread it across his lap. He then looked over at Fiona, who still stood in the middle of the room, eyeing him. "Aren't you going to come to breakfast … " Shrek began, then noticing her choice of food, added with a wry smile "… muffin cake?"

Fiona smiled meekly back and slowly made her way to the table while Shrek took the orange juice and filled the two smaller glasses. As Fiona took a seat at the opposite side of the table facing him he picked up his juice glass, held it towards her, and said with enthusiasm, "To happily ever after."

Fiona picked up her own juice glass. "To happily ever after," she responded, echoing his words if not his conviction. They then touched glasses and drank their contents.

"Now then," he said, putting his empty juice glass aside and looking down at his plate, "time to get down to business."

Fiona looked down at her own plate. Although she had not truly felt hungry up until now due to her conflicting emotions, the sight of the tasty-looking muffin triggered something more primordial within her and she felt her stomach constrict in a pang of hunger. Well, it _had_ been quite some time since she had last eaten. She sighed, then picked up the muffin. She took a huge bite from it, nearly filling her mouth. As she chomped on it, she grabbed the bottle of milk and poured some directly into her mouth to mix with the food. She then sat the bottle back down and, as she continued chewing the mouthful, wiped some of the milky residue from her lips with the sleeve of one arm. A few chews later she noticed Shrek staring at her, his mouth partly agape and his face bearing that expression he had recently used when she had spoken of their ogre natures.

Fiona stared back, cheeks bulging. "Wha?" she managed to grunt.

"Oh … nothing," Shrek said, then hastily cast his eyes down to his own plate and the soft-boiled egg that sat in the egg cup there. He then took a butter knife and gently tapped around the top of the egg, just cracking its shell. Once he had cracked all around its top, he took his fork in the other hand and adroitly lifted the crown of the egg from its top and laid it on the plate beside the cup.

As she watched the delicate operation, Fiona stopped chewing and could only stare at her husband's unexpected dexterity and manners. She had never seen him demonstrate such decorum before; in all previous meals they had shared together, just the two of them alone, he had heartily dug in and enjoyed his food with unbridled abandon. Not that he was sloppy. In fact, he kept an unexpectedly neat table, which was one of the things that had surprised her about the ogre. But he was hardly one for fastidious manners, believing that meals were for the consumption and enjoyment of food in a relaxed informal atmosphere, and his attitude was one that Fiona had readily and happily adopted herself. Well, until that dinner the night before last. Back under her parents' roof and under their scrutiny, Fiona had – with some effort, and quite a bit of nervousness – returned to the careful manners of her youth. But Shrek had nothing to return to. She remembered with some pain how he had sat there then, so lost as how to behave, and so embarrassed when he made a miscue. Now, back alone with Shrek, Fiona had gladly returned to the informal ways she had grown accustomed to, only to find herself staring at a man demonstrating precise etiquette.

Shrek looked up to see her staring at him. "I'm sorry," he said, somewhat confused. "Did I open the wrong end of the egg? I know some people are sensitive about such things –"

Fiona shook her head and swallowed the bite that was in her mouth. The lump went down her throat hard. "Oh, no!" she answered. "I just … well, I didn't realize you knew your way around egg cups."

He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. "My dear, seeing what a short time our courtship and marriage has lasted so far, I'm sure there are many things we have yet to learn of each other. But that's all part of the adventure, is it not?"

"I … suppose," Fiona conceded. His words were true enough, and it _had_ been an adventure she was looking forward to. Yet, once again, she got the chilly feeling that that adventure had just taken a turn towards a path that she didn't care to pursue.

Shrek, however, seemed satisfied. "Very good!" he said, then picked up a small spoon and, with what almost appeared to be practiced grace, took a small bite of egg. Fiona just dropped her eyes to the remains of her muffin and sighed.

"Eat up, darling," Shrek urged. "We've got a big day ahead of us!"

Fiona looked up at him. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"After breakfast we need to travel into town and pick out some new outfits for the ball tonight," he explained. "We want to make the best impression … for the sake of your parents and courtiers, of course."

"Of course," Fiona echoed dully. She did not share Shrek's sudden, uncharacteristic enthusiasm for the venture. She had hoped that his new behavior was an act, as he himself seemed to intimate. Yet watching him now, Fiona again wondered how far past the physical the tendrils of that potion had reached, and how much of the soul of ogre she married had been leeched away.

Then an odd thought struck her as she watched him dip another spoonful of egg from its shell.

What if this _wasn't_ her husband?

What if he was an imposter?

That would certainly explain this … un-Shrekian behavior, would it not? For a moment Fiona felt a spasm of hope. If that were the case, then that meant that Shrek could still be out there somewhere, _her_ Shrek, in all his huge, misshapen, beautiful glory.

But the fleeting hope quickly gave way as her mind cast reluctant but necessary rational light on the premise. _Yeah, right, Princess_, she chided herself. _He's an imposter. An imposter who you ran into after being pointed in that direction by Donkey. And although Shrek might not be recognizable in his new form, Donkey certainly was. Or maybe Donkey was in on it. Uh-huh. Of course, that also meant that your Fairy Godmother was in on it, too; after all, she had vouched for this new Shrek. Oh, sure, why not? While we're at it, let's throw in your father too; after all, he was acting rather strangely this morning. That's right, Fiona, they're all in on it; one big conspiracy theory, all revolving around you. Can you spell 'paranoia', Princess? Hummm?_

Fiona sighed as she grudgingly dismissed the idea. She finished the rest of her breakfast with precise manners and with reticence, and tried not to recall the memories of much more comfortable meals in the great outdoors with the pungent aroma of roasting weedrats wafting though the air and causing her mouth to water. It appeared that those days were gone, and she would be dining a little differently from now on. Fiona flinched as she felt another pang of loss.


	4. Give 'Em What They Want

Layer 4: Give 'Em What They Want

Shortly after breakfast Shrek and Fiona exited the castle. Shrek had her wait at the foot of the front steps while he went to retrieve their carriage. When he returned several minutes later, Fiona was shocked to see him sitting in an ornate open-top carriage made of stylishly varnished cherry wood and garnished with solid gold trim. Instead of a dwarf in simple clothes, the driver was an attractive young man in a spotless military uniform, and he drove a team of two magnificent white stallions. (Neither of which, Fiona noted, was Donkey.)

"What's all this?" she asked, frowning.

"It's a conveyance fit for a princess," Shrek answered, smiling. He opened the carriage door facing her, stepped down, then bowed gracefully and held it open as he motioned for her to step inside.

Fiona grinned briefly at the chivalrous gesture, despite her irritation at his selection of this unexpectedly gaudy mode of transportation; especially one with no top and hence no privacy. She had rather liked the cozy seclusion of the onion carriage, and after her experience the last time exiting it she was is no hurry to expose herself to crowds again, even in human form. Nevertheless, she bowed back to Shrek and then stepped up into the carriage. She noted that he was wearing a sword now, an accoutrement that she had not thought suited him before, but which now seemed somehow to fit.

As Fiona was settling into her seat, Shrek stepped back into the carriage, slid into the seat beside her, and shut the door. "Did you see Donkey?" she asked as Shrek ran his hands across the sides of his hair, apparently to make sure the activity hadn't mussed it.

The question seemed to confuse Shrek for a moment, then recognition dawned on his face and he said, "Oh! Uh, no, actually, I didn't."

Fiona frowned. "That's strange. He was here earlier. I would have thought he'd want to tag along with us, like he always does. Even as a stallion."

Shrek shrugged. "I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is." After a moment, he smirked and added, "Perhaps he's somewhere in the royal stables socializing with the fillies."

Fiona chuckled and responded, "Well, I don't know if Dragon would appreciate that!"

Shrek's face took on an even more confused expression, which he quickly tried to hide. Fiona was about to ask him about that when a voice from just outside her side of the carriage asked, "Are you ready to depart, Your Highnesses?"

Fiona gave a small shriek of surprise and turned in the direction of the voice, only to nearly give another shriek when she found herself facing a tall, broad shouldered knight on horseback. The knight wore an impressive suit of finely polished armor except for the top half of the visor of his helmet; _that_ was made of dark glass which completely hid his eyes. She found it disconcerting.

"I'm sorry, Princess," the knight apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you." His tone was polite enough, but he spoke with a gravelly voice that sounded like nothing so much as a loud, rasping whisper. Something about it made Fiona think of controlled restraint of a nature more attuned to action than decorum.

"Oh, no, that's quite all right," Fiona eventually said after catching her breath. "But … who _are_ you?"

"I'm Sir Hoariman, head of your security detail," he responded, and then gestured around the carriage. Fiona followed his gesture to see that there were three other tall, solidly built knights now surrounding the carriage: one on the opposite side, one in front, and one in back. They were likewise armored and wearing dark glass visors.

"Oh, really now!" Shrek objected. "I don't think we need –"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but King's orders," Hoariman said in a tone that sounded respectful but also brooked no argument. "He wants to make sure you two remain safe."

Shrek sighed. "Very well," he huffed. "If the king insists. But I'm perfectly capable of taking care of both of us."

"I'm sure you are, Your Highness, under most circumstances," Hoariman agreed. "But you never know when an unexpected, coordinated threat may strike, one that no single man can handle, however brave or skilled. That's the reason for the detail, sir. A man's got to know his limitations." The knight then held the heel of his gauntlet up to his visor and muttered into it. "I've got Sunflower and Angelface bundled in the package. Beginning transit." He then nodded to the carriage's driver to start.

Fiona allowed herself a wry grin as the carriage began moving. With his little outburst of irritation and wounded pride, Shrek was finally starting to remind her of his old self. However, he then mumbled something under his breath; Fiona wasn't sure she heard it quite right amidst the noises of the squeaking carriage wheels and clopping horse hooves, but it sounded like, "When I become king, he'd best show more respect."

"What did you say?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh … uh … I, uh, said 'Concern from the king, it's just what you'd expect'," Shrek replied uneasily, and smiled a tepid smile.

Not quite convinced, Fiona raised her eyebrow even further. Shrek looked away, and seemed to be casting about for something to divert her attention elsewhere. He soon found it. "Ah, behold, Fiona!" he said. "Your subjects have already started to gather!"

Fiona looked toward the gate where Shrek was motioning. Several of the townspeople were gathered there and pointing to their carriage. After spotting the royal couple they started chatting excitedly among themselves, every so often throwing another glance the royals' way.

Fiona sighed. "News travels fast," she observed.

"Well … actually … I helped it along," Shrek confessed. "I send some heralds just ahead of us to spread word that one of the Fairy Godmother's potions had restored you back to your beautiful self and you'd be traveling into town with your new prince."

"You didn't!" Fiona gasped, staring at the people by the gate and imagining the much larger crowds that the carriage would now be encountering when they entered town center.

"But they deserve to know, Fiona!" Shrek argued. "I mean, they all saw us as ogres when we arrived. It's best to let them know the good news that we're more acceptable now, and the crown of the kingdom is no longer in danger of being inherited by beasts."

She jerked her head towards him. "I didn't think you cared about what such people thought of us," she said.

"Ummm … well, of course I don't! That is, not about _me_. It's what they think about _you_ that matters, dearest. And look there!" Shrek gestured toward a small group of young women, glancing between themselves and the carriage. They were smiling, apparently energized by the presence of the royal pair, and kept chattering away non-stop. "Don't you enjoy the reaction you inspire now more than those bitter, shocked faces the day we arrived?"

"I suppose," Fiona sighed, although it seemed to her that the females were paying more attention to _Shrek_ than to herself. And judging by the way Shrek smiled and waved to them as the carriage passed, their attentions didn't escape him, either.

"Well, we might as well give 'em what they want, eh?" Shrek said, almost haughtily and … was that a _wink_ she saw him throw the women's way?

As Fiona feared, they passed more and larger groups of people as they wound their way towards downtown Far Far Away. Eventually the groups merged into throngs and then one continuous crowd as they entered the outskirts of the business district with its many shops and attractions. People were lined on either side of the street, in some places two or three rows deep, and greeted the carriage with what appeared to be enthusiasm, waving and smiling – sometimes even shouting or applauding – with apparently genuine warmth.

But Fiona knew better. She recognized too many faces from their arrival at the castle two days earlier, when she and Shrek had stepped out of the onion carriage and onto the red carpet that had been laid out for them and surrounded by hordes of these same people; these people that Fiona had so hoped would welcome their long-departed princess and her precious husband, her rescuer, her brave green knight – the ogre that meant the world to her and whom she wanted to share with the world. She had wanted to prove to him that not all humans could be so ignorantly judgmental, and to allow him to bask in the gratitude he deserved, to let this person who had been so hurt for so long by people who dismissed him as a 'big, stupid, ugly ogre' to experience something different. They had had a taste of altered perceptions back in Duloc, when Shrek had proven his mettle in rescuing her from Farquaad and in the process freeing that province from its miniature tyrant. The acceptance shown to the ogres after Farquaad was dispatched and they declared their love to each other, kissed and broke the 'curse' before the whole town had surprised them both and led Fiona to believe that such reactions were a magical part of her 'happily ever after'. Yes, there were still occasional gangs of disgruntled peasants, but such persons suffered their _own_ curses: ignorance and fear. But Far Far Away was Fiona's home, and so surely her happily ever after _must_ extend here. Here she had wanted Shrek to feel welcome, at home, part of the family. Yet when the two ogres stepped out of that carriage they had both been made to feel anything _but_ welcome, and her fairytale delusions abruptly shattered. She still recalled the shocked gasps, the big awkward silence, and those faces; some simply stunned, some horrified, some hateful, and some vitriolic and downright threatening.

Now, as the human princess and prince rode through town in their royal conveyance, Fiona saw many of those same faces, but now they were smiling at her and calling her name triumphantly. What had Fiona and Shrek done to deserve this reversal of reaction? Nothing. Nothing but make themselves more 'presentable' – to trade in their true selves for facades that the public found palatable to their preconceptions and prejudices.

A part of Fiona felt grateful in a way. Had she arrived in Far Far Away as a human, and the people had reacted as they were now, she would likely have mistaken their reaction for sincere, heartfelt adulation. Instead, her experience two days before now allowed her to see past their own facades, and what she saw there she didn't like. It made her wiser, but it was a wisdom born of pain.

Sweet Heaven, how she wanted to be back in the swamp right then.

Fiona looked over at Shrek. He was still smiling and waving to the people that lined the street on his side of the carriage. She noted that many of the women that beheld him, like the group they had passed early in this procession, seemed more … _sincere_ in their … _appreciation_ of their gorgeous new prince. Despite her personal distress, Fiona felt another wry grin break upon her lips. True form or not, this was surely a new experience for the former ogre, and he certainly seemed to be enjoying it, protestations of charades notwithstanding. She felt glad that he was able to experience some of this, despite its superficiality – it no doubt offset a little of the pain of the many rejections he had suffered due to his superficial appearance over the years. Fiona did find it odd that she didn't feel more jealously over the females' attentions to her husband. Was she _that_ secure in their relationship? She would liked to have thought so, and so tried to convince herself that that was what it was, and so placate yet another nagging uncertainty: that instead of it being security she felt, could it instead be … indifference? No, that was silly. Fiona loved Shrek. Indifference? Fiona cast the absurd thought aside. Or at least, she tried to.

As Shrek continued looking out over the crowd on his side of the carriage, Fiona noticed that the back of his hair was mussed. She reached over with one hand and ran her fingers through that part of his hair to straighten it.

Shrek turned back towards her. "Why, Fiona! You surprise me!" he said, cocking an eyebrow suggestively with an amorous glint in his eyes.

"Oh, no!" Fiona protested. "I was just –"

"No need to explain, darling," Shrek said confidently, almost smugly. "It's perfectly understandable."

With that, Shrek reached over, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her towards him. Fiona opened her mouth to say that he'd gotten the wrong impression, only to find him pressing his own mouth to hers in a kiss. Apparently mistaking her open mouth for an invitation, Shrek slid his tongue within it. Fiona almost gagged. She started to push him away, but his embrace was too tight. She'd have to exert considerably more pressure to break it, and that might make for an even worse impression. She didn't want to make him think she was rejecting him; and she certainly didn't want to embarrass him, not with so many watching. Around her the crowd's cheers and applause was augmented with several whoops and hoots of varying degrees of mischievousness. Fiona felt trapped, both figuratively by the crowd and physically within her husband's embrace – an embrace, she realized guiltily, that she _should_ be welcoming. Goodness knew there were enough other women watching them right now who'd die to have a chance to be where she was, just as so many men had died storming Dragon's castle to be where Shrek sat now.

Fiona heaved an inward sigh. Why did she continue to fight this? What within her continued to protest? What she had with her husband the ogre was gone. Her future now lay with the man who was embracing her. She realized the irony of having come full circle; for so many years, she had imagined a scene like this, looking just as she did now, with a man who looked just as Shrek did now. She had thought then that this would make her the happiest woman in the world. Fiona again tried to cast her futile misgivings aside. She closed her eyes and draped her arms around Shrek, pulling him towards her and returning his kiss in kind. It was _not_ an … _unpleasant_ sensation. Although Fiona still could not conjure forth the depths of emotion she had felt before Shrek's transformation, she was still a woman, and his embrace and kiss were starting to provoke physical reactions within her that had nothing to do with higher emotions like love. Was that to be her life, then? Superficial appearances, superficial behavior, superficial adulation, and superficial pleasures? Would nothing else again reach her heart but pain and regret?

Fiona felt the pleasure of the kiss souring. It was time to end it. It had lasted too long, anyway; after all, decorum among royals _must_ be maintained, she thought with bitter irony. She opened her eyes.

Then she saw him. There he was, standing behind two rows of cheering, hooting townspeople, his back against a building.

It was the dark-haired stranger; the one she had spotted from her balcony.

Fiona wasn't sure why she recognized him so quickly. She had seen him from so far away before. But for some reason that she didn't understand, she was absolutely certain it was the same man.

Now that she saw him so much closer – only ten yards or so separated them at that moment – she couldn't help but admire his appearance. Long wavy locks, a cute button nose, a wide, square jaw, broad chest and shoulders, and a firm and trim but not _too_ thin waist, he was in his way as handsome as the new Shrek. But whereas the new Shrek's looks were more refined, the stranger's contours were more rugged, more like a blacksmith or woodsman or someone else more in tune with nature, closer to … well, closer to Shrek, frankly; at least the Shrek that was.

As soon as Fiona saw him her eyes locked with his – his brown eyes, she noted, the same hue as her husband's former ogrid self – and she felt herself suddenly stop breathing. He stared back directly at her, taking in the sight of her and her prince in their seemingly passionate embrace and kiss. The stranger's reaction was unlike that of any of the other townspeople. There was not a shred of happiness about the man. In fact, his face looked pallid and grief-stricken, as if he'd lost everything that made his life worth living. Fiona felt herself freeze, still locked in the embrace and kiss which she no longer felt, as she stared at the stranger. The only thing that Fiona _did_ feel was her heartbeat, which inexplicably became faster and stronger. The stranger stared back for a few seconds more, then cast his eyes downward, turned, and began walking away, his shoulders slumped and head bowed. As he walked, Fiona couldn't help but notice his taught round –

Something instinctual suddenly kicked in, and Fiona shoved Shrek away from her, breaking both the kiss and the embrace. Had Fiona still the strength of an ogress, this human Shrek would have been tossed from the carriage. As it was, he ended up bumping against the door on his side of the conveyance. Shrek stared back at her, aghast, as the dark-haired stranger – oblivious to the activity in the carriage behind him – rounded a corner and disappeared down an alleyway.

"Fiona!" Shrek gasped, stunned by her action along with a goodly number of townspeople, whose cheers and whoops quickly receded into surprised gasps of their own. "What on earth …"

At first Fiona was oblivious to their reactions. For several moments she just stared at the point where the stranger had disappeared. She had not only started breathing again, her breath was now coming in short, shallow pants, and her heartbeat now felt as if it had doubled its normal pace. Embarrassed and confused, Shrek followed her gaze. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did you see something that upset you? Some sort of threat?" His hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

Fiona slowly shifted her gaze towards the man sitting beside her. "Huh?" she asked, her eyes glassy, her expression vacant, her thoughts unclear. She wasn't sure what had just happened, or why seeing the stranger should have set her heart and mind so aflutter. There was something about the stranger's face, especially the eyes – about the way he looked at her, almost _within_ her – something that touched her at level far deeper than mere consciousness. For the briefest of moments Fiona had the unsettling, illogical sensation that the stranger was less of – well, a _stranger_ to her – than her transformed husband. "Uh, no," Fiona finally managed to say as she forced herself back to the here and now. "I just –"

"Are you all right, Your Highness?" Fiona now heard Sir Hoariman, still riding at the head of the carriage, ask as he looked back. "Is there a problem with the crowd?" Like her husband, the knight's hand went to the hilt of his sword as his dark visor turned in the direction of the crowd where Fiona had spied the stranger. The princess felt a bit exasperated. What was it with such macho human males, anyway? Always anxious to whip out their long, sharp swords at the least provocation. It was as if they were trying to compensate for something.

"I'm _fine_, really I am," Fiona said. "It was … it wasn't anybody I _saw_, particularly," she lied, suddenly feeling protective of the stranger, afraid that Hoariman or his men might pursue him should she say otherwise. She then turned back to Shrek and added, more truthfully, "I really don't know what came over me. I'm sorry. I … didn't mean to embarrass you."

This time it was Shrek's turn to lift an eyebrow as he regarded her quizzically. A moment later, however, his face resumed that self-confident smile. "That's quite all right, dearest," he said smoothly. "The important thing is that you're okay now." He then reached both hands towards her, intending to take her shoulders.

Something else instinctual kicked in, and Fiona quickly shifted in her seat, turning so that she was no longer facing Shrek but rather facing forward, and thrust her back flat against the backrest. She then crossed her arms, afraid that Shrek might try to take her hand otherwise.

"Fiona!" Shrek gasped again, sounding more that a bit exasperated himself.

Fiona blushed. She had surprised herself almost as much as she had surprised Shrek. She felt a bit of guilt … but did not change her posture. Instead, she turned her head towards him. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I just … I need a few moments … to pull myself together."

Shrek silently beheld her for several seconds, a perturbed expression on his face. He then rubbed his chin and seemed to think for a short while, his eyes still on her, his stare increasingly discomforting. Then that smile returned to his face, and he said, "That's all right, darling. Take as much time as you need. I'm a patient man. But if you'd like to confide in me, please do so. I'd like to share your burdens with you, Fiona. Your burdens, your joys, your concerns, your thoughts – I'd like to share them _all_ with you, my love. I'd like to share _everything _with you. You just need to trust me. You _do_ trust me, don't you, Fiona?"

"Of course," she replied, perhaps a half-beat too slow.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Well … I … just need a little time."

She offered him a smile which she hoped was reassuring but feared came across as weak. She then stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the perplexed gaze she felt boring into her.

"Whoa!" Sir Hoariman ordered from up ahead. The carriage came to an abrupt halt as Fiona prayed a silent thanks for the interruption. "We're here, your Highnesses," the knight rasped, gesturing to the store just off Shrek's side of the carriage. The royal couple followed his motion to see an impressively maintained storefront underneath a sign written in large incursive letters that said, _LORDS' TAILORS_, and in smaller print just beneath that, said, _Providing the finest in royal and noble continental-influenced apparel since 1066_.

"Excellent!" Shrek exclaimed, then squeezing Fiona's shoulder said, "We'll soon have something for you to wear tonight that does proper credit to your beauty, my dearest."

Fiona looked over at him and again smiled wanly. Shrek kissed her forehead, then released her and exited the carriage on his side as the security knight on Fiona's side dismounted and then opened the door for her. She stepped out as Shrek came around to meet her. Her husband bowed his head and offered his arm in a gentlemanly gesture. She took it, and they began moving back around the front of the carriage. Suddenly, Fiona halted and gave a little gasp. From up ahead she'd seen a most unexpected but welcome sight. Out from a pet supply shop on the opposite side of the street from where she'd seen the stranger, and some fifteen yards in front of her carriage, stepped the white stallion that was now Donkey and, walking beside him, that oddly dressed orange cat. Donkey looked down at the feline with some consternation. The cat seemed unmindful of him as he glanced about warily and ran a paw inside one of his boots as if secreting something there.

"Look, Shrek!" Fiona said, and was about to call Donkey's name when she heard, also from up ahead of their procession, a nasally, shrill, upper-crust voice calling out, "Thieves! Bandits! Rrrruffians! _Please_ help!"

The voice was emanating from a coach, pulled by two brown horses, that was coming down the street the opposite direction from which the royals' carriage had come. The voice also drew the rapt attention of Donkey and the cat. They stared at the approaching coach, their faces frozen in fright, for a brief moment. Then the feline leapt upon Donkey's back as the stallion quickly whirled and, like the stranger earlier, disappeared down an alleyway. It all happened too quickly and too confusingly, and they were gone before Fiona was able to recover her wherewithal to call to her equine friend.

Sir Hoariman, who had dismounted along with the rest of the knights, held up a hand as the coach came within a few yards. "HALT!" he commanded. The driver of the coach quickly did so, pulling back on the reins, the horses whinnying in protest at the abruptness.

A head popped out of a window of the coach. It appeared to be that of a man in his late fifties or so, with a short salt-and-pepper moustache and a tuft of hair under his chin similar to the king's. He was wearing a white powdered wig, but it was set askew on his head, plus some of the hair on one side was tousled.

"Knights!" the man exclaimed. "Oh, thank _Heaven_!" He then opened the coach door and leapt out. He was a short, somewhat stocky man, dressed as a noble, with a maroon felt pullover shirt adorned with a silver chain along the neckline and gold-colored sleeves. He also wore short dark-olive pants and stockings. The shirt and pants, however, didn't quite fit, being a tad too large and a bit lumpy. He bounded towards the group. As he came closer, Fiona saw that his wig was strewn with small twigs and a couple of tiny leaves.

"STOP!" Sir Hoariman ordered, interposing himself along with another of the knights between the man and the royals as the noble came within a few feet. Fiona felt Shrek slip an arm around her waist; she glanced over at him and saw him studying the noble warily, a frown on his face.

"Sir," Hoariman began to explain to the noble, "this is the party of Princess Fiona and her – "

"The _princess_!" the noble exclaimed, then looked over at her. "Oh, I heard you had returned!" he gushed, then gave a respectful and courtly if hurried bow before continuing. "I fear I must report, Your Highness, that your forests are not safe! My son and I were traveling here to attend your wedding ball tonight when we were rudely and ignominiously accosted by a gang of brigands! The scoundrels staged an accident and robbed us when we stopped to help! Oh, to have one's good nature taken advantage of with such unabashed audacity! They _forced_ me at swordpoint to remove my clothes, and then their leader – a burly brute – pulled them on and stretched them _all_ out of shape!" Here the noble indicated his now ill-fitting outfit. He then raised the back of his hand to his forehead, rolled his eyes upward, and moaned, "Oh, the humiliation! I don't know if I shall _ever_ recover!"

"Please calm down, sir," Hoariman said evenly. "Now, how much money did they steal?"

"Money?" the noble asked, dropping his hand and seeming to make an effort to descend from his moment of despair. "They took no _money_. They took –"

"My clothes!" a new voice sounded indignantly from the coach. Everyone looked in that direction to see another head poking out of the carriage window. This time it was a man of about thirty, with long black hair and goatee. He bore a similar appearance and build to the older noble but was noticeably larger. Fiona assumed that this was the son that the noble had referred to. From the part of his upper body jutting through the window, it was apparent that he was in his long underwear. There were a few snickers from the sizeable crowd that still lined that side of the street, and the man looked about him, suddenly became self conscious, smiled sheepishly, and then drew back within the coach, his face blushing red as he did so.

"Clothes?" Fiona, puzzled, whispered to Shrek. "Why would anyone rob a nobleman just for _clothes_?"

"I'm sure I don't know, darling," Shrek whispered back, his expression reflecting similar perplexity. "I'm sure –" Suddenly Shrek's face took on a look of realization, and then – was that fear?

"What's wrong? What is it?" Fiona asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing," he stammered. "I … uh … I just hope this isn't a trick!" He then looked suspiciously at everyone around them and his hand again went to the hilt of his sword. "Something to divert our attention."

"Oh, please, don't be so paranoid," Fiona said, finding it ironic that _she_ should criticize _him_ about being paranoid the way she was feeling that day.

"But they left clues!" the noble was now saying to Hoariman. "They left a bottle! Let me show you!" He then turned and began bounding back to the coach.

Shrek sucked in a short, sudden breath as the noble returned to his coach. Fiona was curious about Shrek's reaction, but she was more curious as to why the excitable little man was so anxious to show this bottle. As he reached the side of the vehicle, the younger man briefly reached out and handed it to him. It was constructed of lightly blue-tinted glass, with a nearly circular body and a neck a few inches long. There was some sort of label on it. Fiona guessed its capacity at a pint or two. The older noble began bouncing back to Hoariman, holding the bottle before him with both hands. Suddenly the nobleman's stretched pants dropped from his waist down to his feet, exposing his own undergarments. The man tripped over the pants, falling forward onto the street. He caught his fall with his arms, but as he did so the bottle flew out of his hands. It soared over the heads of Hoariman and the other knight and began descending right where Fiona was standing. She reached out to catch it, but just before she did so Shrek wrapped his arm further around her waist and jerked her away, causing her to utter a little shriek. The bottle struck the cobblestones, shattering the glass and tearing the label.

"HEY!" Fiona looked at him angrily. "Why –"

"I … was trying to protect you, dearest," Shrek stammered. "There might have been something in that bottle, something dangerous that might have splashed on you or … who knows _what_ dreadful thing might have happened? You really shouldn't be so trusting of strangers."

Meanwhile, the noble was getting to his feet. "Oh, blast," he moaned, looking over at the pile of shards that was the bottle as he pulled his pants back up. Then his face brightened again. "But they left something else! The leader's old discarded clothes! I have them in the coach. Let me show them to you … they're of the most unusual materials and si–"

"Sir Hoariman!" Shrek called loudly and, it seemed to Fiona, with a bit of nervousness. "This thievery is a bit outside of your purview, is it not? Perhaps the gentlemen should be directed to local law enforcement for a proper investigation into this matter?"

Hoariman turned back towards Shrek, the knight's eyes and expression, as ever, hidden by the dark glass. After a moment, the knight said, "Excellent point, Your Highness." Hoariman then turned to the knight beside him and said, "Give this man directions to the constabulary, then resume your post outside the shop." The knight nodded and began speaking to the noble as Hoariman turned and began striding to the royals.

"Well," Shrek said, smiling at Fiona, "now that that little diversion is over, let's do what we came for, eh?"

"I suppose," Fiona said without enthusiasm.

Fiona was casting one last glance back at the noble as he received directions from the knight when she heard an oddly intoned female voice say, "Well, welcome, your Highnesses, to my humble establishment." At least, Fiona _thought_ it was a female voice, one with a peculiar accent that sounded part German and part something oriental.

Fiona turned toward the storefront of _LORDS' TAILORS_, expecting to find herself facing the person who had just spoken. But she saw no one in her immediate vicinity. "What the?" the princess stuttered.

"_Ahem_, down here, dahling," the voice came again. Fiona looked down and was startled to see a woman some three feet tall staring up at her with an expression of slight annoyance. The woman had a wide head topped by thick, black hair that hung down straight and was cut just short of shoulder length. Her head was disproportionately larger than the rest of her body, which was thin and nearly curveless, and adorned in a stylized black dress with scalloped sleeves and horizontally pleated skirt. A pair of large circular dark-rimmed spectacles sat atop her somewhat pudgy, upturned nose, the lenses exaggerating her alert eyes. Those eyes, and the rest of her features, seemed to reflect a mixture of European and eastern Asian derivation.

"Oh!" Fiona gasped, embarrassed. "I'm sorry! I –"

"Don't worry about it, Your Highness," the woman said, then bowed to the royal couple. "Again, welcome to my establishment. I am the proprietor and chief designer, Edwina. Edwina Vogue."

After the royals returned the bow, Edwina said, "So, I understand there is to be a ball tonight. I assume that you both wish to be fitted into proper attire rather than these …" Edwina regarded the clothes both royals wore with more than apparent distaste "… _things_ you are wearing now?"

"Why, yes!" Shrek said. "We –"

"Come in! Come, come!" Edwina said and, apparently forgetting propriety, turned, snapped her fingers and began striding up the steps towards the store. The royals looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her, flanked by their security detail.

"You have certainly come to the right place, dahlings," Edwina said, her voice puffy with pride. "I'm sure I can guarantee that the people attending your ball tonight will not soon forget what they see!"


	5. Fashioning an Escape

****

Layer 5: Fashioning an Escape

Fiona stepped through the doorway of _LORDS' TAILORS_ and then paused, taking the place in. Low-volume pop music played in the background; someone singing an egomaniacal ode to himself about being too sexy for sundry parts of his clothing and various other things. While that noise assaulted her hearing, the circulating aroma of an air fragrance, based on a popular and expensive perfume, invaded her nasal passages.

"Ahhh. Smell that, my love?" Shrek asked in a quiet voice, breathing deeply.

"Yes," Fiona replied in a similarly muted tone, crinkling her nose at the synthetic odor. "Stinks, doesn't it?"

"Oh," Shrek said. "Uh, yes, of course. Well, hopefully this won't take very long."

Fiona wasn't paying that much attention to Shrek just then; instead, her eyes were casting about the store. From what she could see there were some dozen little areas that consisted of a stylish couch with a small but ornate table set in front of it, and on each of those tables sat books of uncommonly long and wide dimensions. Some ten of the areas had one or two people seated on the couches. All of the seated people wore clothes marking them as members of the upper class. A few were glancing through the books, which Fiona could now tell from incidental glimpses of their pages consisted of various outfit designs. Those areas whose couches contained occupants – clients, Fiona assumed – also had a man or woman of stylish dress and attractive features standing beside and talking to the clients, and in some cases he or she was holding up a dress or garment for inspection; obviously salespeople, Fiona concluded. The back wall of the store was lined with a number of doors spaced only a few feet from each other, and on each door a full-length mirror was hung. Dressing rooms? That seemed logical.

"You can see how busy our consultants are," Edwina noted. "I am quite grateful to you two, you know. Your ball tonight has generated quite a bit of business for us, including a number of celebrities."

As if on cue, two of the adjoining dressing room doors opened. Out from one stepped a comely raven-haired young woman that Fiona recognized as Snow White. From the other stepped a lovely blonde that she knew as Cinderella. They were both smiling, apparently happy with how they looked in the elegant gowns that they were trying on. Unfortunately, the gowns were exactly alike. They noticed each other at the same moment, and then both struck similarly indignant hands-on-hips poses, glared at each other, then strode back into their respective dressing rooms and slammed the doors behind them.

"Ah, yes, well," Edwina said, then cleared her throat and continued. "Let us see what we might find for you, eh?" She then whirled about and called out with a suddenness and volume that startled the royals, "CARÇON!"

Suddenly the trio was joined by a man of about thirty with shoulder-length blond hair, a slim, delicate build, and attractive if somewhat effeminate features.

"Yes, Edwina, how may I help you?" the man – Carçon, Fiona assumed – asked with a slight lisp.

"Carçon, meet Princess Fiona and her new prince," Edwina said, and then explained to the royals, "Carçon is one of our top fashion consultants."

"Oh, greetings Your Highnesses!" Carçon said, bowing deeply and theatrically. The royals nodded acknowledgments. Carçon then stood again and said to Fiona, "So you're the legendary princess! Darling, I think your story is just _so_ romantic. Stranded all alone, up in that nasty old tower … it just made me want to cry whenever I thought of it!"

"Well … uh … thank you," Fiona said, not quite knowing how to respond. Actually, Carçon looked like he was about to burst into tears right then. But then his eyes drifted over to Shrek, and any trace of emotional breakdown quickly vanished. Instead, the consultant's face broke into an admiring grin as he looked the prince up and down. Carçon's eyes seemed to be drinking Shrek in, which caused the prince to shift uncomfortably.

"You're charming!" Carçon said.

Shrek suddenly looked much more uncomfortable. He was about to respond when Carçon continued gaily, "Absolutely charming! But I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Your Highness."

"Oh! Uh … Shrek," Shrek said, oddly relieved.

"_Shrek_?" Carçon repeated, his face contorting a bit.

"You have a problem with the name?" Fiona challenged.

"Oh, no no no, Your Highness!" Carçon answered the princess. "It's just … well, different. But I certainly don't have a problem with different. _Believe_ me, I don't!" Carçon then looked back at Shrek and added, still speaking to Fiona, "And I must congratulate you on being rescued by such a stunningly handsome, manly prince!"

"Why, thank you," Shrek said, seemingly puffed up by the compliment.

"Indeed, I can imagine the scene," Carçon said, again taking Shrek's measure. "The prince galloping to your rescue on his gallant charger, cape flapping, golden hair streaming behind, muscles rippling as he controls the great steed –"

"Carçon!" Edwina snapped.

Carçon, whose eyes had started to glaze, looked down at his diminutive employer. "Yes, Madam Edwina?"

"The royal couple came into town to buy new attire for their ball tonight."

"Yes, well, I don't wonder why," Carçon said, taking a moment to examine Fiona's dress with a critical eye and a crinkled nose. "All those people out there, and you came in _that _thing? You're braver than I thought!"

Fiona was taken aback. As she tried to fathom a response, Carçon turned to Shrek and said, "You really could take lessons from your boyfriend here. Now, _this_ ensemble, although not exactly top drawer, makes a subtle but definite fashion statement."

"Do you really think so?" Shrek gushed.

"Absolutely!" Carçon said. "The way you carry yourself, you exhibit an obvious, innate fashion sense. It's something rare among men, and often marks them as quite … special." Shrek smiled broadly, and Carçon continued, "In fact, it's hard to imagine you stepping into your closet and coming out with _anything_ that would do you injustice. Have you tried that?"

"Tried … what?" Shrek asked, the smile vanishing from his face and his brow furrowing in confusion.

Carçon grinned slyly and gave Shrek a conspiratorial little wink, which seemed to confuse the prince even more, and then Carçon leaned towards him and replied softly, "Have you tried coming out of –"

"Carçon!" Edwina quickly intruded. She paused to take a deep breath, and then continued with more composure, "Since you believe Princess Fiona is in need of the most help, why don't you take her aside and help her select something appropriate?"

Carçon's face broke into distress. "But Madam Edwina!" he objected, "I think I'd feel _much_ more inspired if I could handle the prince."

"No!" Edwina said with finality. "This is a very special night for the kingdom's new male heir. I insist on taking care of his needs myself." She then grinned up at Shrek.

"Very well," Carçon said, somewhat in a huff. He then looked at Fiona. "Come along, Princess," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment, and then began heading towards an empty couch.

Fiona glanced back at Shrek, but he was staring down at Edwina, a look of trepidation on his face, as the designer beamed up at him. Fiona rolled her eyes and followed Carçon.

"Now, you stop right there," he said as they arrived beside a vacant couch. She did so.

"Hummmm," he mumbled, resting his right elbow on his left palm and tapping his chin with the fingers of his right hand as he scrutinized her figure with analytical intensity.

"Turn," he said.

"Pardon?" Fiona asked.

"Turn turn turn," he said, removing his right hand from his chin and making impatient little circles in the air with its index finger.

Fiona sighed and then turned, making a three-hundred sixty degree spin in a compact, graceful little circle, the bottom half of her dark green dress billowing out slightly like a bell.

"Oh, dear," Carçon sighed, shaking his head. "Christmas tree chic. Honey, has anyone ever told you that green is simply _not_ your color?"

Fiona's face scrunched in irritation. "No," she stated. "In fact, I've been told quite the opposite –"

"Well, they lied," Carçon said. Then his demeanor took on a more professional quality as examined Fiona's figure and features, tapping his chin and ignoring her indignant glare. A few moments later he snapped his fingers, his eyes grew wide, and he exclaimed with a suddenness that made Fiona flinch, "Sequins! Yes! A white sequin dress. With a pearl necklace … not a full strand, we don't want to be gaudy, just a few to accent your features and … hummmm. Do you have a silver tiara?"

"What? Uh, yes. I mean, I think so, back at the castle," Fiona responded.

"Oh, good," Carçon said. "The gold one you're wearing now simply would _not_ do. Let's see, I think I have a dress just like we need right over here." He hurried over to a dress rack set against a wall at the side of the store. There was a window beside the rack and Fiona saw a few of the townspeople looking through it, jockeying for position to get another glance at the royal couple. Fiona blushed self-consciously. She looked down shyly and rubbed her left arm with her right hand. Then she looked over at Shrek. One of Edwina's assistants had just brought over an armful of exquisite and expensive outfits. She was proudly gesturing to them as Shrek's eyes grew wide and an expression came into his face like a child's in a candy store.

"Here we are!" Carçon gushed, causing Fiona to jerk her head back towards him. Her entire field of vision was suddenly filled with a field of fine white cloth studded with pearl-like sequins.

"It's not an exact fit, of course," Carçon said, lowering the dress from where he'd been holding it up to her face, "but with a nip and tuck here and there, you'll look just fab. Here, go try it on. The sooner you're out of that mold-green thing, the better for us all."

Carçon thrust the dress into Fiona's arms. "But – " she began.

"Go go go!" Carçon said, and physically ushered her towards the nearest dressing room. When they reached it, he opened the door for her and nearly shoved her in, then closed the door behind her.

Fiona turned to give the door a glare, but found herself staring at her own reflection. There was a full-length mirror on the inside of the door as well as the outside. In fact, the three walls of the little cubicle surrounding her all had mirrors on them. There was also an empty clothes rack in a corner and a small bench built into the wall opposite the door, just below the mirror there. Into that same wall and above the mirror, just above eye level, was a roughly two-foot square window. It was made up of ornate stained glass depicting a handsome kneeling prince presenting a beautiful princess with a red rose. The thick colored glass prevented any prying eyes from seeing inside the little room.

Fiona sighed, and then slid off her green dress. She hung it up on the rack, then pulled on the white sequined gown. It was a good fit in most areas, but was a bit too wide in the shoulders and a bit too narrow along the waist. She examined herself in the mirror. She had to admit, she did look quite beautiful in the gown. So many women would envy her. Fiona tried to make herself feel good about that, and her appearance in general. But despite her efforts, her feelings were more closely attuned to the way she felt on the day of her marriage to Farquaad, when she first tried on her wedding gown and stared at her reflection while the ladies attending her gushed over how she looked; all the while her thoughts were on Shrek, who she thought she'd never see again, and who she simply could not get out of her mind.

Fiona shook her head to break her lapse into remembrances past. She then took a deep breath – as deep as the dress would allow – and opened the dressing room door. She stepped out to find Carçon waiting for her. He looked her up and down and then flashed a broad grin. "Oh, Princess, you look absolutely magnifique!"

"You think so?" Fiona asked, and then looked over towards Shrek, intending to ask his opinion. But she saw he was completely enthralled in examining his own reflection in one of the outfits he had tried on, and in which he did cut a dashing image. Fiona sighed then turned back to Carçon as he kneeled and straightened her hem.

"It fits in most places so well already!" he said.

"It's a bit snug in the waist," she noted.

He stood up and scrutinized her waist for several seconds, his brow furrowing. "Hummmm," he eventually said. "Yes, you need to lose weight."

Fiona's eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. She looked down at her stomach, suddenly wondering if the spell were wearing off and she was resuming ogress form. But no, her waist was as slender and fit as when she awoke that morning. "How thin do you want me to _be_?" she asked half-rhetorically.

"How thin can you get?" he responded matter-of-factly. "You can't be too rich or too skinny, you know."

Fiona glowered at him as he continued studying the dress, and she was about to respond when he said, "Well, we can't worry about that today. I could take it out along the middle, or … better yet, let's get you into a corset."

Fiona set her jaw. "I am _not_ wearing a corset," she stated through clenched teeth.

"Oh, come, Princess," he said. "All proper young women wear corsets."

"And who says I want to be a proper young woman?" Fiona snapped, her temper starting to wear thinner than her waist. "I'll neither starve myself into emaciation nor endure some medieval torture device just to satisfy the ludicrous dictates of so-called fashion."

Carçon stared at her as if she'd just spoken a blasphemy.

Fiona sighed, trying to recompose herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just think – "

Then her eyes chanced upon the window beside the clothes rack where Carçon had pulled the dress. There were still several faces there, gawking in at the royal couple. One, a very still one, was familiar.

It was the dark-haired stranger.

He was staring through the window at her, that oddly forlorn expression on his face again.

Fiona froze. What was _with_ this man? Was he following her? _Stalking_ her? She wondered briefly if she shouldn't alert Shrek or Hoariman after all. But no. No, Fiona could sense no nefarious designs. Perhaps the stranger simply felt compelled to catch one last glimpse of her before walking out of her life forever.

Fiona blinked. That was an odd leap of logic, if 'logic' it be. Besides, how could he walk _out_ of her life? He wasn't _in_ it. He was just a face in the crowd. True, a particularly handsome face, with an expression inconsistent with the crowd's general merriment, but beyond that he meant nothing to her. Did he? No, of course not. Yet Fiona felt like she was touching his mind on some elemental level, as if there was some mystical connection between them. Or magical. Could the man be a warlock, or some sort of svengali, casting a spell on her? No. Whatever this 'connection' was that she was feeling – or, granted, perhaps imagining – it was less than that … and yet more. It didn't make sense. Like so much else that day, it just didn't make sense.

Suddenly, as if reading her own mind, the man stood back, resolutely screwed his face into a look of determination – which nevertheless still bore stains of sadness – and then turned and strode away. But he did not move in the direction of the main street. He instead headed in the direction of the alley that led, among other places, to the back of this store.

Fiona's thoughts suddenly began racing at a level beyond logical consciousness, a level that told her she _had_ to find out what that man was about. She quickly glanced over at Shrek. He was still admiring himself, lost in his gorgeous reflected image as Edwina tucked at his outfit. For once Fiona was glad he wasn't paying attention to her. But another quick glance told her that Sir Hoariman and the other knights were positioned at strategic locations around the large room. There would be no way to get out of the room without the security knights' notice, unless …

"Let me just get your measurements –" Carçon was saying, taking out a measuring tape.

"Actually, I'd like to try another dress first," Fiona said, and suddenly dashed over to the dress rack.

"But –" a befuddled Carçon began to protest.

"Sorry," Fiona said, grabbing a dress at random and dashing past him back towards the dressing room. "I saw something that I simply couldn't resist!"

Carçon opened his mouth to protest again but Fiona slammed the door in his face and quickly latched it. She dropped the dress she had grabbed to the floor, and then she leapt atop the little bench and fumbled with the window latch. In her haste it took a few seconds but she finally unlatched it, then placed her hand against the frame with the illustration of the idyllic prince and princess and shoved it aside, opening the window and giving her an egress. She quickly pulled herself up into the opening and started trying to squirm through it. She grunted with the effort. As she struggled, the rational part of her mind had a moment to kick in. _Fiona, what are you doing?_ it asked.

"I need to find out who that man is," Fiona said aloud, between grunts.

__

But why? Why this sudden obsession? What is it about him that compels this rash action?

"I don't know," she murmured. "Maybe I'll know that … once I find him …"

As Fiona continued struggling her left ring finger stuck in a small crevice in the outer part of the stone window sill. As she pulled her hand back to free it, her wedding band caught in the crevice and slid off. She heard a soft 'ting' as it fell to the rocky ground outside the window. "Oh, no!" she gasped, and then struggled even harder.

Fiona pressed forward. She heard brief ripping sounds as the dress tore in a couple of places, and she muttered a muted oath. Then, suddenly, she was through. She dropped the six feet from the window down to the ground below, landed awkwardly on her heels, and fell backwards onto her bottom, uttering an indignant little 'urk!' as she did so.

She had managed to 'escape' from the store, from Carçon, from the knights, and from her husband. It was something for which she felt a brief, thrilling sense of accomplishment, followed by a longer and deeper pang of guilt.


	6. Silent Knight

Layer 6: Silent Knight

Fiona looked about her, and was startled by what she saw. Whereas the storefronts were polished and pristine, the catacombs of alleyways behind the stores was grimy and dingy. Uneven, mud-grouted stones made up the back-alley streets themselves, grass growing between the stones in the few places the sun could reach. The store backings were unpainted save for occasional graffiti scrawls; the doors set into them were of thick but coarse wood and secured with heavy locks, often more than one lock per door. The few windows were small and set up and out of the way with thick glass such as the one she had just squeezed through, or covered with black iron bars. Several trash cans and large wooden trash bins set against the buildings, the bins' wooden frames dark, chipped, and in some cases rotting – as were, judging by the smell that drifted from them, many of their contents. Some of the cans and bins were overflowing, discarded little piles of refuse trailing beside them and spilling part-way into the street, where wagon wheels had ground the more malleable parts into the street itself. Every so often a rat could be seen scurrying among the debris.

It was as if she had not toppled through a window but rather stepped through a looking glass into some mutated, topsy-turvy world, a mockery of the glitzy, glamorous faces presented by the fronts of these same buildings.

The few people she saw were in similarly shabby shape. She saw one older man, scraggly uneven whiskers on his thin, craggy face, huddled in an unused doorway in front of a small fire, a coat of old tarnished and dented chain mail draped across his shoulders and a worn, battered helm upon his head. In another spot a group of five raggedy boys of around twelve but with the vocabulary of older, raunchier men were throwing dice against a wall.

"Are you all right, dearie? You took quite a tumble."

Fiona, startled, gave a little shriek and looked to her right. Sitting against the wall only a few feet from her was a woman of about her size and only a few years older. Unlike Fiona, she was dressed in soiled and ragged clothes. Her face had pleasant if somewhat grimy features and her hair was dirty blond – in both senses. Her legs were crossed in a double Lotus position, her hands rested on her knees with palms up and middle fingers touching her thumbs. She was looking at Fiona with concern.

"Oh!" Fiona said. "Oh, I'm fine. I –"

Then she glimpsed him again. The stranger. He was near the end of an alleyway some twenty yards away, about to turn its corner. He was walking slowly, his back to her, and he was apparently unaware of her exit from the store.

"SIR! WAIT!" Fiona shouted. He froze at the end of the alley. After a few seconds, he turned and saw her. His eyes widened, and then he quickly ducked around the end of the alley.

"NO! PLEASE!" Fiona called. She leapt to her feet and began running down the alley after him.

She was half-way down the alley when a huge burly man deliberately stepped from a doorway and into her path. Fiona bounced off his solid form with a grunt and then stood there, gawking at him for a moment. He appeared to be about thirty-five, stood over a foot taller than her, had dark surly features, scraggly black hair and beard, and wore a tattered butcher's apron spattered in several areas with large dried bloodstains.

"HEY!" Fiona snapped. "Who do you think –"

"Whoa! Don't be in such a hurry, now, miss," the man said, then flashed a broad, sinister grin, showcasing stained uneven teeth. "Running down alleys like that – somebody might get hurt."

Fiona glared at him. "Get out of my way," she demanded.

"My, a lass with a temper!" the man chortled. Then he looked her up and down. "And a fine looking lass at that." His eyes settled on the jeweled gold tiara atop her head. "With fine jewelry, to boot. I imagine that little trinket would fetch a pretty price on the market." Then his sinister grin took on an absolutely evil cast as he added, "As would you."

Fiona flushed with anger. She bared her teeth, and as the man started to laugh she yelled "HI-YAH!" and threw and open-palmed punch directly into his face. The heel of her hand smashed into his mouth, splitting his lip and knocking two teeth in, while her palm impacted his nose. The man gagged and reeled backwards, covering his mouth as blood spurted from his nostrils. Fiona was about to deliver a twirling kick to his solar plexus that she expected would have finished incapacitating him when she felt something whack the back of her head. Stars danced before her and she collapsed, rolling onto her back where she lay, barely conscious and suddenly with almost no control of her muscles.

Two other men suddenly stepped into the wavy starfield that currently made up her field of vision. One was about twenty-five and thin, with shabby clothes that included a worn cap from under which hung unkempt shoulder-length brown hair. His facial features were not unattractive, except that his eyes looked hard and his mouth was set in a thin, close-lipped, merciless line. In one hand he held a long wrought-iron candlestick. The other man was about fifty and somewhat short. His worn clothes included a baker's apron and dilapidated chef's hat that drooped limply towards the back of his head. He rubbed the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin with his left hand while in his right he held a two foot long rolling pin. Fiona assumed it was the rolling pin that struck her; had it been the heavy candlestick, she doubted she'd still be alive. All three knaves stared down at her like doctors examining a patient.

"Blasted witch broke my teeth and nose!" the man that Fiona had run into managed to whine from behind hands that covered his mouth and pinched his nostrils. The nasally restricted voice would have sounded comical but for the princess's dire predicament.

"Good grief, Butcher, do you know what you've done!" the man with the chef's cap asked after examining Fiona more closely.

"Yes, Baker, I've earned us our income for a month," Butcher replied. "Just look at that headpiece!"

"I'm looking, you fool!" Baker said.

"Why's he a fool?" the younger man asked.

"Chandler, I know you're young, but don't you recognize a royal tiara when you see one?" Baker said. "This is a princess! Do you realize the trouble we're in now!"

"Oh, chill out, old man," Butcher said. "You sound more like an old _woman_. This just means we can't let her live, and we'll have to be careful of how we dispose of her. _All_ the places we dispose of her." Butcher then carefully removed his hand from his nose, making sure the flow of blood had been staunched. "Keep an eye on her. I'll go get my tool."

Butcher strode out of Fiona's field of vision. The stars dancing before her were receding, and she felt some control returning to her muscles, but her recovery was happening much too slowly.

Chandler and Baker got on their knees to either side of her and leaned over her.

"What a waste," Chandler said, a disconcerting grin breaking across his thin lips. "She looks so beautiful, like one of those idealized waxworks you see in museums, the type of art I used to aspire to make."

"Yeah, right," Baker said. "As if you had talent for such work. You couldn't even hold your job as a simple candlestick maker!"

Chandler shrugged. "I have other talents," he said. "But I do need practice to keep them sharp, so before Butcher begins exercising his own … talents … let's not let this opportunity go completely to waste."

"Meaning what?" Butcher asked.

"Meaning that if we can share a tub," Chandler replied, "we can certainly share _her_."

Chandler leered and leaned closer to Fiona. "No," she said, but her voice was a faint, helpless whimper. She managed to lift one arm and laid a hand on his chest, but she had no strength, and it did not hold him back as he pressed even closer. She could smell the reek of his breath now. She needed time. She needed strength. She needed –

Suddenly a board shattered across the back of Chandler's head. He uttered a surprised grunt, then his eyes rolled upwards in their sockets and he tumbled, unconscious, off to Fiona's side. Instead of staring up into his vile face, she found herself beholding the man that had dispatched him.

It was the dark-haired stranger.

He was standing above her, the remains of a plank from one of the trash bins in his hands, broken where it had smashed against Chandler's skull. He was looking down at her with intense concern.

"WHAT THE –" Baker stammered, then leapt to his feet. He swung the rolling pin at the stranger's head. The stranger ducked away from it while simultaneously dropping the remains of the plank, then in one smooth motion recoiled back at Baker's off-balance form, throwing a powerful right cross that caught Baker square on the chin and sent him toppling to the street, as unconscious as his cohort.

The stranger looked down on the prostrate males below him and allowed himself a brief, satisfied little smile. But he quickly turned to Fiona, and his face instantly returned to that intensely concerned expression it had before. He approached her and knelt beside her. The sun was near its midday position, and as the stranger leaned over her it shown from just behind his head, making it appear as if the man's head was surrounded by a halo, like a Heaven-sent hero. He held one hand down for her. She stared up at his glowing form for a moment, and then tentatively lifted a hand up to take his, the simple action seeming to require all her strength.

Suddenly all of the sunlight was blotted out as a huge dark shape appeared behind the kneeling man. A moment later Fiona recognized that shape as Butcher. He glared down at the stranger, who was still concentrating on Fiona, and then Butcher lifted his right arm, whose hand clutched a foot long meat cleaver.

Fiona stared up at Butcher, her face twisted in horror. "LOOK OUT!" she managed to scream.

The stranger's eyes grew wide, and then he reacted, falling to the ground and rolling away as Butcher swung the cleaver, barely missing the head that was there a split-second before.

The stranger came out of his roll in a crouching position. Butcher, who stood nearly a foot taller, sneered at him and raised his cleaver again. The stranger cast about for a weapon, but the best his eyes fell upon with such little time was Baker's discarded rolling pin. He grabbed it and lifted it in a defensive position just as Butcher struck. The stranger was able to deflect the blow, but Butcher's strength knocked the rolling pin from his hands and sent him sprawling off-balance and crashing into a trio of trash cans which toppled with him, sounding a metallic clatter as their lids came off and they spilled their contents onto the street. Butcher pursued, and again lifted the cleaver, taking aim on his helplessly supine opponent. The stranger again desperately looked about him, then quickly reached over and grabbed one of the trash can lids by its handle. He swung it up just as the butcher swung down. There was a loud clang as the blade struck the lid. Butcher paused to curse, which gave the stranger time to kick out with one foot, catching Butcher in the stomach and sending him staggering backwards. Butcher uttered a fresh set of oaths, but did not go down. The stranger struggled to his feet, saw where the rolling pin had fallen, and grabbed it. Then he struck a pose, his left arm extended and holding the trash can lid out like a shield, his right hand holding the rolling pin nearer his body by one handle, the other handle pointing at Butcher. To Fiona the stranger looked like an absurd if heroic parody of a knightly prince, set to defend a helpless maiden from the onslaught of a beastly … ogre. Well, Butcher was no ogre. And the stranger was no prince.

"And I'm no … not helpless," Fiona muttered as she struggled to a sitting position. Her head throbbed and her muscles screamed protests. But they were obeying her. Weakly, still. But obeying.

Meanwhile, Butcher swung again. The stranger caught the blow with the lid and channeled Butcher's follow-through to the side while simultaneously thrusting out with the rolling pin, catching Butcher in the stomach and causing him to utter a guttural 'oof'. But the blow enraged Butcher more than it harmed him, and he threw a punch with his left hand, catching the stranger on the chin and sending him stumbling backwards. Butcher swung again with the cleaver, the stranger recovering just in time to catch it with his 'shield'.

The two continued their swing/parry/thrust contest for several seconds, Butcher forcing the stranger further back each time. Meanwhile, Fiona took a deep breath and drew herself up into a standing position, which she then held on wobbly knees, trying to channel strength back into her legs through sheer force of will while she watched the continuing battle before her.

Butcher maneuvered the stranger to within three feet of a brick wall. The stranger made a mistimed thrust with his rolling pin, which Butcher quickly countered with a quick cleaver chop that neatly sliced off the rolling pin just a couple of inches from where the stranger held it. The stranger was stunned into momentary surprise, which was long enough for Butcher to charge him, throwing his full weight against the lid and driving the stranger hard into the wall. The back of the stranger's head struck the bricks; he uttered a groan of pain and dropped the lid as he seemed to lapse into semi-consciousness, barely maintaining his feet. "Ah-ha!" Butcher exclaimed in triumph as he clutched the stranger's throat with his left hand and pressed him against the wall. Butcher drilled him with a malevolent glare, and then drew back the cleaver in his right as he prepared to strike the final, fatal blow.

The blow never fell. There was another hi-pitched "HI-YAH!" as Fiona's foot struck Butcher's hand, knocking the cleaver from it.

"OW!" Butcher cried in pain and surprise as Fiona landed beside him. But the leaping kick had taken all of her recovered strength. She stumbled, and then began to collapse. Her collapse was arrested, however, as the enraged Butcher spat "Why you little –", seized Fiona's throat in his massive right hand – which was unfortunately still quite serviceable – and then squeezed. Her eyes bulged, her face flushed red, and her tongue began to loll outward. She would have gagged, but her airway was too constricted even for that. Butcher smiled as he began to lift her off the ground.

The stranger, seeing what was happening, suddenly managed to shake off the dregs of semi-consciousness. He slapped Butcher's left arm away and then swiftly drew his own right arm back and threw a powerful haymaker punch that caught Butcher full on the jaw just as the villain turned back towards him. Butcher's head snapped to his right as teeth flew out. By reflex Butcher released his grip on Fiona's throat and she fell to a heap on the ground, where she began coughing and taking deep gasps of precious air. Meanwhile, the stranger, fury in his eyes, followed up his first punch with a left cross that smashed into Butcher's face. Blood was again pouring from the villain's mouth and nose. The stranger then launched a right hook to where Butcher's abdomen met his ribcage. There was an audible crack, followed by a shriek from Butcher, who began to double over. That movement, however, only aided the impact made with the stranger's fist as he threw a left uppercut. Butcher snapped upward into a fully erect posture, teetered there for a moment, and then toppled forward like a great felled tree, face-first onto the hard street.

Both the stranger, now huffing and puffing with anger, effort, and adrenalin, fisted hands clenching and unclenching, and the princess, who was still sitting on the street and who had finally managed to catch her breath, stared down at Butcher's battered form for several seconds. The prone body didn't move, but eventually uttered a plaintive moan.

The stranger and the princess slowly lifted their gaze from Butcher as they sought out each other. Their eyes locked yet again, and Fiona, who had just been gasping for air, felt her breath stop again. Her heartbeat, which had been receding after the physical activity, began increasing. The stranger, his eyes trained on her, stepped over Butcher and up to where he stood just before her. They stared at each other for a few moments more, and then the stranger held out his right hand. She shifted her gaze reluctantly from his face to his hand, regarded it as some mysterious object, and then blinked her eyes, recomposing herself. She then took his right hand with her left and allowed him to assist her to her feet. Her head no longer felt heavy and throbbing. In fact, it felt rather light.

They now stood before each other. She looked back at his face, but saw he was not returning the look in kind. Instead, his eyes were still trained upon her left hand, which still rested in his right; her left hand with the discolored area around her ring finger where her wedding band used to be. Its absence seemed to trigger an odd reaction in his features; he seemed … distressed somehow. Whyever should that be? She must be misreading him. But he continued staring at her hand. Was he wondering if she was available?

_Are you wondering the same about him?_ Fiona heard that rational part of her mind reproach her.

Fiona suddenly jerked her hand away from his. He finally shifted his gaze back to her eyes. He looked even more forlorn than before. Fiona found herself starting to lose herself in those brown eyes, felt herself starting to melt, felt herself starting to lean gently forward, felt her lips starting to part ...

_What are you DOING!_ her rational mind slapped her back to reality.

"Ah!" Fiona sputtered, blinking, feeling as if she'd had cold water thrown into her face. His expression now showed some confusion. No doubt he was wondering what was going on in her mind. _If he only knew_, she thought.

But he mustn't know. Fiona licked her lips. The man had just saved her life, and she hadn't even thanked him yet. She must do so. He had rescued a princess, and so she must address him accordingly. It was no doubt what he was expecting, and it gave her a mask to hide behind, however thin.

"Kind sir," Fiona said, her voice sweet and modulated. "I thank thee from the bottom of my heart for thy most … incredibly … brave and valiant actions in dispatching those … most vile ruffians and … rescuing me. Thy deed is great, and thine heart is pure."

Somehow, her voice did not seem to placate him. If anything, he seemed yet _more_ distressed. Fiona felt frustrated. What was she doing wrong? And why hadn't he spoken to her?

"Kind sir," she began again. "Didst thou not wish to address me? Tell me, what weighs so heavily on thy mind?"

The man opened his mouth as if to say something, then checked himself. He focused again on her eyes, and then closed his mouth. He sadly shook his head then cast his own eyes downward.

Fiona stared at him, bewildered. Then a thought struck her. "Art thou mute? Beist that thy affliction?"

He looked back up at her. He still appeared morose, but almost seemed on the verge of chuckling despite that. Instead he shrugged, and then nodded.

Fiona felt better. She had _finally_ made a correct deduction. Now she just needed to find out why he had been following her and looking at her the way he had. "Brave sir," she said. "I saw thee other times today beholding me with … such downcast visage. Is there a way thou couldst let me know why that was, and if there beist anything within my power to assist thee?"

The man shook his head sadly and looked down again. He seemed as sad as if … another thought suddenly struck Fiona. "Is it a lost love?" she ventured. "Someone thou hast loved who bore a semblance to myself?"

His eyes darted back up towards her. His lower lip began to tremble, and he bit it. He nodded, confirming her deduction. Fiona mentally congratulated herself for diagnosing his pain. Now she might be able to provide some comfort.

"Prithee, despair not," she said. Then, remembering her long infatuation with the idealized image of her prince charming, she said, "I, too, thought myself in love once, a love I thought wouldst last forever." Her thoughts turned then to Shrek, the ogre who rescued her, and with whom she had found such fulfillment. She smiled and continued, "But then I found I was wrong. I found my True Love, and realized my previous feelings were foolish and immature. Now I've discovered true happiness with my –" Fiona checked herself. She was about to say 'ogre'. But that would no longer be accurate. Instead, having to work to maintain the enthusiasm in her voice, she concluded, "– with my blond, blue-eyed, handsome prince."

By the stranger's reaction, Fiona realized that her attempt to provide consolation had somehow gone horribly astray. His eyes suddenly began to glisten, and his lower lip quivered again. He began to turn away to his right. Fiona's left hand shot out, and she laid it firmly against his broad right cheek. The physical contact sent an immediate and disconcerting charge through her system which she tried to ignore. "Oh, I pray thee, turn not away!" she said. Since he had seemed most upset at her mentioning of her 'handsome prince', she said, "Thou art most handsome as well! Many comely maidens shall find thee so, I am sure. Amongst them, thou willst surely find thine own True Love to replace the foolish wench that hast broken thy brave heart."

The stranger looked back at her, an odd but still sad smile gracing his lips. He then lifted his right hand and laid it tenderly on her left one as it caressed his cheek. A tear dropped from his right eye, which she softly brushed away with her thumb. A tear then fell from his left eye and began rolling down that cheek. She reached up with her right hand, laid it on that cheek, and wiped away that tear. She stood like that for several seconds, holding both his cheeks with her hands, staring into the deep glistening pools of his eyes.

"I … I'm sure, if Heaven be just, that thou shalt find someone else … worthy of thee … as a reward for thy … heroism."

Fiona felt the sudden urge to pull his face closer, to kiss away the tracks of those tears of woe from his cheeks, to kiss those beautiful eyes that beheld her more as a goddess than a princess, to kiss his soft, quivering lips, to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer to her, tighter to her, harder to her. She felt a fire starting to burn in her blood, and she knew that her 'princess veneer' was about to crack.

Summoning her last bit of willpower just before it could be overcome by her rapidly building desire, she released his face and took a couple of stumbling steps backwards. As she drew away from him, he reflexively reached one hand out towards her, as if beckoning her back. But he halted its action, and then let his arm drop listlessly to his side. His head bowed again, and his shoulder slumped.

"I … I … I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to suppress the trembling she felt start to tug at her muscles. "But I … I must be returning to my prince … lest he fret for my absence."

The stranger frowned, but nodded.

"Yes, well, um, again, I really am so in thy debt, perhaps at a later date you could visit us at the castle, and we could reward your gallantry properly –"

He glumly shook his head.

"But kind sir, I must do something for … Oh! Here!" Fiona undid her necklace, from which hung a heart-shaped pendant, and then held it out to him. She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself, and then said, "I pray thee, take this favor as a token of my gratitude."

Yet again, an odd look of pained irony played upon the man's features. He looked at the pendant, began to reach for it, but then drew his hand back. Then he slowly shook his head.

"Please!" Fiona insisted, thrusting it forward.

He shook his head with a bit more vehemence.

"Very well," Fiona sighed with frustration, and then re-fastened the necklace around her throat. That done, she beheld him again. "But please, if there beist anything thou ever needst, anything at all, please do not hesitate to come to the castle and ask it. Just tell them – I mean, let them know … let them know that … that …" a little grin creased her lips as an idea struck her. "That 'The Silent Knight' would like an audience with the princess."

A wry but still sad smile creased his own lips, and then he shrugged.

Fiona giggled, and the sound seemed to affect the stranger. It appeared to lighten his countenance briefly, but then a wispy, far-off look came to his eyes. His countenance fell again, and he looked as morose as before.

Fiona's laughter died uncomfortably away and her eyes drifted shyly to the cobblestones below. There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Fiona forced herself to look back up at him. "Willst I ever see thee again?" she asked.

The stranger closed his eyes, heaved a great sigh, paused for a moment, and then opened his eyes again. He shook his head.

"Oh," Fiona said, trying to keep her voice from betraying the depths of her disappointment. "Well, then, this is it." Fiona cleared her throat, and tried to summon her most imperial and emotionally neutral tone as she said, "I thank thee again, brave and noble sir, for your most heroic service today. I am forever in thy debt. Fare thee well, my rescuer."

He gazed at her with an expression like that of a newly bereaved widower looking upon his dead wife's face one last time at her funeral. It sent chills through Fiona, but this time they weren't chills of desire. She took a couple of more steps backwards, then turned and began walking away. Within a few feet she began trotting, suddenly anxious to be away from these wretched, violent alleys, the strange, brave, mysterious dark-haired man, and the confusing, awkward, desirous, and perfidious way he made her feel. Still, she could sense a virtual, uncomfortable warmth in her back where she knew he was staring at her, not with any malevolent thoughts, but simply to make sure she reached safety. An unbidden guardian angel, who was surely bearing more fidelity to her than her own inner thoughts and emotions were to her husband right then. She flushed with shame, and quickened her pace.


	7. Too Late the Hero

****

Layer 7: Too Late the Hero

"FIONA!"

This time the voice that cried her name was Shrek's new voice. He suddenly appeared before her, turning into the alley from beside _LORDS' TAILORS_ and running towards her. He was wearing a fashionable white outfit with gold sleeves, gold trim, and gold boots. More to the point, he had his sword drawn. Beside him ran Sir Hoariman, his sword also drawn. Likewise, behind them followed the other three security knights, swords at the ready. Trailing them was the ill-clad woman that had been sitting near Fiona when she had tumbled from the window.

Shrek and Fiona soon reached each other and the princess fell against him. "Fiona, are you all right?" he asked, wrapping his left arm around her while he continued holding his sword at the ready with his right. The four security knights quickly formed a tight perimeter around them, all facing outwards, swords ready.

"I think so," she replied. "But I was set upon by three men. They're lying over there by that dark-haired –"

Fiona turned and pointed back to the area where the three villains still lay unconscious. But the dark-haired stranger was no longer standing among them.

"By that dark-haired _what_?" Shrek asked, following her gaze.

"He's gone," she said, unable to hide all the regret from her voice as she felt her heart sink. She wanted to feel relief, but instead felt awash with disappointment.

"_Who's_ gone?" Shrek asked, cocking an eyebrow at her in curiosity.

"A man," she replied, unconsciously putting extra emphasis on the word _man_. "A brave man intervened when those villains tried to … tried to kill me." She didn't feel up to giving more details on their full intentions just then. "He bested them all. And now … he's gone."

Shrek paused to think for a moment, then his brow knitted in suspicion and he said, "Perhaps he was in on it. Part of some diabolical plan to win your royal favor."

"No!" Fiona objected. "It's not possible! He was … he was heroic!"

"Fiona, my love, some people can be more devious than you might imagine, even when playing a hero," Shrek said, but then his countenance changed, as if he didn't care to pursue the topic of pretentious heroes further just then. "But you're likely right, or these other three wouldn't still be lying here. But why in Heaven's name did you venture out into this God-forsaken alley?"

"I … I …" Fiona felt both afraid and ashamed to admit the full reason. "I … just felt compelled. I don't really know why." It was the truth … as far as it went.

Shrek squinted. "Perhaps it was some sort of witchcraft."

"Perhaps," Fiona said. For all she knew, it could be true. _Truer than you've been to your husband_, that inner voice rebuked her again.

"I see," Shrek said, drawing out his words thoughtfully. A moment later, he added, "And I think we have that witch … right _here_!" With that, he shifted their position and threateningly pointed his sword back at the ill-clad woman, who was standing just outside the protective perimeter.

The woman's eyes grew wide with fright. "WHOA!" she said, holding her hands out defensively. "Hey, if that were true, why would I've gone to fetch help when I saw she was in trouble!"

"Shrek! No! It's not her!" Fiona insisted, aghast at his reaction. "I just … everything was so overwhelming … I just felt compelled to get away from it all for a little while." That, too, was true … as far as it went.

Shrek studied her for a moment. "Oh?" he asked, again cocking an eyebrow. "From _everything_? Surely that 'everything' doesn't include … _me_?" His tone made that possibility seem somehow ludicrous.

"Oh! Of course not!" Fiona responded, trying to hide the flinch she felt at the truth that his question revealed within her.

But Shrek continued studying her, his eyebrow still cocked suspiciously. Fiona felt herself growing uncomfortable, and decided that actions would speak louder than words. Suddenly she reached up, pulled Shrek to her, closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his in a kiss. But behind her closed eyes, Fiona imagined the man she kissed did not have the features of the handsome Shrek … nor even those of his former ogre self … but rather the ruggedly attractive face of the dark-haired stranger. She recalled the moments when she had been holding his cheeks and yearning to do to him then what she was doing with Shrek now. She knew the thoughts were wrong … probably even sinful … and they made her feel base.

Worse, it wasn't working. Perhaps it was a lack of imagination on her part, but Fiona just could not buy into her own fantasy that the lips she kissed belonged to anyone other than to the oddly cold being that Shrek had become. She realized with some frustration that it was only the being within the man – or ogre – she kissed that could arouse real, true, heart-felt passion within her. Would she have felt the same way had she kissed the stranger? Was his soul like Shrek's – the _real_ Shrek's? She'd never know. Perhaps that was for the best. After a few second she broke off the kiss and drew back. He looked at her and smiled. Fortunately, _one_ thing seemed to have worked; he no longer seemed suspicious. His face had resumed that smug, somewhat pompous expression that she had seen too many times that day. "Well!" he said. "I hope that was good for you."

"Oh, indeed!" Fiona said, forcing as much sincerity as she could. She smiled back, fighting off the urge to wipe her lips with her sleeve. She thought she was putting on a rather good act. Anyone who had watched the kiss and her reaction afterwards would have thought her sincere and loving towards this man, when in truth Fiona realized upon the breaking of the kiss that she didn't really care to kiss those lips again. It was one more thing that made her feel shamed, but it was nevertheless how she felt. She hoped – she prayed – that that would eventually change. "And thank you," Fiona thought to add, "for coming to my rescue."

"Yes, well, I'm sorry we couldn't have been here sooner," he said, then gesturing to the ill-clad woman, added flippantly, "but we did come as soon as the hag here let us know what was going on."

Shrek's words had been more unthinking than unfeeling. Nevertheless, the woman's face flushed red and its features scrunched in indignation. Placing her hands on her hips she said, "I went to get help as soon as I saw the princess get knocked out after running into that big lug. It was _you_ and your bloody knights that refused to listen to me at first."

"Well, what did you expect? How seriously did you think you'd be taken, looking like _that_?" Shrek said, indicating with disgust the woman's overall appearance. "For all we knew, you were just another lowly peasant, either mad or trying to get attention for some hand-out."

The woman gave a harrumph, and then, gesturing to Hoariman while still speaking to Shrek, she retorted, "Yeah, well, even after I got Darth's attention, it took forever to pry you away from that stupid mirror."

This time it was Shrek's turn to look indignant. "I came as soon as I was aware of the direness of the situation," he stated flatly.

"Yeah, right," the woman said, almost chuckling and rolling her eyes.

Shrek's eyes squinted in anger. "Need I remind you to whom you're speaking?" he said, taking an ominous step towards the woman.

Shrek's reaction took Fiona aback. "No! Wait!" she said, quickly interposing herself between Shrek and the woman. Shrek halted, although he continued glaring past Fiona at the woman. The princess turned to her, smiled, and said, "It seems that we owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss …?"

"Just call me Jenna," she said, returning Fiona's smile and then casting a brief dismissive smirk in Shrek's direction.

"Well, Jenna, thank you so much," Fiona said, hoping that would make up a bit for her husband's rudeness.

Jenna shrugged. "Hey, no sweat," she said. "After all, we're all stuck together on this great big cosmic egg together, so we need to keep up the communal chi by helping each other when we can, right?"

"Uh, riiiight," Fiona said, her smile faltering as she tried to follow whatever it was that Jenna was talking about.

Everyone's attention was then drawn back to the villains as a moan escaped from one of their prostrate forms.

"Sir Hoariman," Shrek said, turning to the security team head, "escort the princess back to the store. The rest of you –" he looked around at the other three knights "– help me take those knaves into custody."

"But sir," Hoariman said, "I don't think –"

"No, you apparently _don't_ think, sir, or else you wouldn't have allowed the princess to come into such danger!" Shrek chided.

Hoariman stiffened, but remained quiet. Still, Fiona thought she could almost feel him bristling underneath his armor. "Hey!" she said, interceding. "It's not his fault! I –"

"Would have been better off without the false security of this incompetent," Shrek finished for her , casting a spiteful glance at the knight. "Perhaps I'm being foolish, _Sir_, but I'm assuming that I can at least trust you to keep the princess in sight and safe long enough to get her from here back into the store?"

"Yes, sir," Hoariman said, the words coming out clipped.

"Very good. Now, Foina, please allow Sir Hoariman to perform what I will ensure when we get back to the castle will be his final service. It seems the soon-to-be former security chief has … realized his limitations."

"But –" Fiona began to protest.

"GO!" Shrek barked.

Fiona stared at him, mouth agape.

Shrek sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. A moment later he reopened his eyes, and his face once more assumed that pleasant, almost angelic appearance and his voice came out smooth and refined as he said, "I'm sorry, dearest. But you gave me such a fright. We'll discuss the matter later. But this is not the time nor place. Please go."

Fiona sighed as well. "All right," she mumbled.

"Good girl," Shrek said with a hint of condescension. He then smiled, took her hand, and kissed it. He looked back up, still smiling, and their eyes met. His smile, Fiona noted, was not entirely consistent with what she saw in those eyes, which suddenly appeared to her more wary and probing than caring as he scanned her own features. Still, she managed to force a little smile of her own as she slid her hand from his, and then she turned and started trudging back up the alley towards the store. Hoariman sheathed his sword and fell in step beside her on one side, Jenna on the other. Behind them Shrek and the knights busied themselves with securing the ruffians.

"I'm sorry, Sir Hoariman," Fiona said, speaking low enough that she couldn't be overheard by her receding husband. "I'm afraid the prince has quite a temper." That was true enough. She had seen enough of Shrek's outbursts and had been told of more. Shrek was not one to suffer fools gladly, at least not fools who didn't acknowledge that they were being foolish. Yet Hoariman was no fool; he had simply been performing his job. Plus, Shrek's previous outbursts, although sometimes loud and angry, almost always lacked the underlying vitriol that he had just displayed. And in the past, after he cooled down, Shrek often showed remorse over his actions and would even lay his sizable pride aside and apologize. However, Fiona wasn't getting the feeling that this was necessarily the case anymore. She shook her head and said, "I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

"No, Princess, it's not," Hoariman said, his lowered voice even more hoarse and gravelly than before. "I forgot the rule of security service."

"What is the rule?"

"Protect your charge at _all_ times."

Fiona sighed. "I'm afraid I didn't make that easy for you."

They took a few steps in silence, then Hoariman said, "No, Princess, you didn't. In fact, I don't ever recall a person placed in my care ever showing such … ingenuity in avoiding it.

Fiona couldn't help but crack a small if sad grin at Hoariman's line, delivered with an odd mixture of rebuke and admiration. Then she said, "Maybe after he calms down –"

"No, I don't think so, sweetie," Jenna said. "Sorry, but I'm just picking up all sorta bad vibes off your prince … even if he _is_ one gorgeous hunk."

"He's … having a stressful time adjusting," Fiona said as they turned a corner and could see Romeo drive, bright and bustling with activity, at the end of the alley before them. "After all, we were married not all that long ago and now –"

"Oh! That reminds me!" Jenna said, then halted just as they were halfway down the last alley. Fiona and Hoariman halted as well as Jenna dug into one of the pockets of her worn and tattered garment. Then the pulled out Fiona's wedding ring. "Here," Jenna said, handing it to her. "You dropped this."

"Oh my goodness!" Fiona exclaimed. She slipped the ring on, embarrassed and upset at herself for having forgotten it. "Jenna, I … I don't know how to thank you! First you went for help, and then you give this back to me … you must realize that it's worth a great deal of money –"

"Hey, don't worry about it, Princess," Jenna said, smiling. "Like I said, we all need to watch out for each other. Helps keep the karma on the upswing. And as for the ring itself … well, I figured it would be worth a lot more that just a wad of money to you. I know that's how I feel about mine!" Here Jenna held out her left hand, showcasing a small, scratched, and tarnished wedding band of copper on her ring finger. But she seemed as proud as if it were solid gold with diamond studs.

"Still, you deserve a sizable reward –" Fiona said.

"Ah, naah," Jenna said, waving the offer away with the hand whose ring she was just admiring. "Thanks anyway, but I'm not into material things. Speedbumps on the road to Nirvana, y'know?"

Fiona, surprised, looked the woman up and down. "But surely you can't prefer to live in the squalor of these back alleys!" she said.

"Oh, I don't _live_ here!" Jenna said, laughing. "This is where I do community service. I'm a member of Varada Mudra Charities. Maybe you've heard of us?"

"Uh, no," Fiona said apologetically. "I'm afraid n–"

"Really? Well, how about our slogan? 'We make the Medieval a little less evil, we make the Dark Ages a little more bright'?"

"No, sorry," Fiona said.

"Darn," Jenna said, disappointed. "That was our biggest campaign. Our ads were everywhere. Where've _you_ been, locked away in a tower the past few years?"

"Well, yes, actually," Fiona said, blushing.

"Ooooh," Jenna said. "You're one of _those_ princesses."

"Not just any of '_those_' princesses," Hoariman broke into the conversation. "Princess Fiona is _our_ princess. She just returned a couple of days ago with her new husband."

"Really!" Jenna said.

"You hadn't heard?" Hoariman asked.

"Well, I was aware there was some sorta commotion," Jenna replied. "But I've been kinda busy back here. We're not exactly first on the public service announcement list. Well, welcome back, and congrats on scoring your new hubby!"

"Thanks," Fiona said. "And again, if there's anything I can do …"

Jenna's eyes brightened. "Say! If you're really set on giving rewards, how about a donation to VMC?"

"Well … certainly," Fiona said. "I'll arrange something when I get back to the castle."

"Kewl!" Jenna said.

"But … I'd really like to help you _personally_," Fiona said. Then an idea struck her. "Speaking of the castle, perhaps I can arrange for a position for you or your husband? You could still do your service here, but you could live there. Nice clothes, beautiful accommodations … surely your husband would like that?"

"What? Haldamir?" Jenna said, laughing. "Oh, no, he'd hate it! But then, what'd you expect from a Sylvan elf?"

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "Your husband's an elf?"

"Yep. A _Sylvan_ elf," she repeated, as if that was a significant distinction.

"There's more than one kind?"

"Of course!" Jenna said.

"Sorry," Fiona said. "I didn't know."

"That's okay," Jenna sighed resignedly. "Most normal humans don't."

Fiona nearly bit the insides of her mouth, then asked, "So what kinds are there? What's the difference?"

"Well, there's the Noldor. They're the upper-ups; highbrow types. They'd fit fine in your castle, I'm sure. Well, all right, some are okay, even noble, but lots are just plain snooty. The Sindar are even worse in that account, though, at least how they regard non-Sindars. Lots of 'em mean well, and talk about maintaining the 'purity of the elven line', but they can be down-right xenophobic. The Sylvans, like my Haldamir … well, they're more into nature. They prefer simple life out in the woodlands. They're independent and emotional. Haldamir took some getting use to, but he's really got a heart of gold."

"Really?" Fiona said, raising an eyebrow and fighting back a grin. Still, she couldn't help herself from asking, "So … how did your parents react to you marrying outside your … species?"

Jenna laughed. "Just as you might expect," she said. "They _hated_ the idea! Particularly my Dad. They did everything they could to discourage us, especially after we announced our plans to live together out in the forest."

"So what happened?"

"They came around. After they had some time to digest the idea, got to know Haldamir a little better, and … mainly … after they saw how much Haldamir and I meant to each other. Love's the key. If you pick a good guy, and your parents love you and really want what's best for you, then with enough time they'll come around. Love and tolerance. Learning not to judge people before you get to know them."

This time a wry grin broke on Fiona's face. "Sounds like a reasonable philosophy," she said.

"Besides," Jenna said, "it wasn't like I was marrying an _ogre_ or something."

Fiona started to guffaw, then forced herself to cough lest she fall into a laughing spree. After a few moments she cleared her throat and then asked as neutrally as she could, "You … uh … have something against ogres? What happened to that 'judging people' thing?"

"Yeah, well, that's good in general," Jenna said. "But _ogres_? I mean, c'mon, you've gotta draw the line _somewhere_."

Fiona frowned and was debating how to respond when she saw Jenna's face take on a pensive, somewhat worried expression. "What's wrong, Jenna?" the princess asked.

"Oh … well … I just started thinking about Haldamir," Jenna said. "And … well, I'm a little concerned. He didn't come home last night. I got a pigeon-gram from him saying there'd been an accident at the factory where he works, some sorta spill. Blasted Keeblers, I wish they hadn't sold that place. Sold _out_, more like it. Anyway, he wrote that there wasn't anything to worry about, but they had to get some things … straightened out. His writing was odd, though. I mean, he's not the neatest of writers anyway, but this scribbling looked like real chicken-scratches."

"I'm sorry," Fiona said.

"Hey, don't worry about it, Princess. It's not like it had anything to do with you."

"I mean for your distress. If there's anything I can do …"

"Thanks," Jenna said. "But I'm sure he'll be fine." Still, her face briefly took on an even more worried expression. She seemed to fight it off, then smiled and said, "Say! Maybe some time you can teach me some of those moves, like the one you used on that big galoot. It might come in handy with some of the characters I have to deal with. HI-YAH!" Jenna suddenly struck the pose Fiona had used when she'd struck Butcher's face.

"Uh, sure," Fiona said, wondering if she had looked as comical as Jenna did now. "Just come by the castle some time and give them your name, and I'll see what I can arrange."

"Kewl!" Jenna said, resuming her normal posture. "There was this one guy that dropped by town once who knew a lotta that stuff. I met him where he had a temp job at a Chinese restaurant. And he was really into the philosophy angle, too. He even had a little book filled with these short little … sayings, you know … what do you call those things …"

"Aphorisms?" Fiona suggested.

"Gesundheit!" Jenna responded. "Anyway, he had a book full of 'em. Unfortunately one day it accidentally fell into the cookie making machine and got shredded. Still, we had a couple of nice chats. He kept talking about his old teacher, who called him … um … Cricket or something. Anyway, he had to bug out before he taught me the moves. Said something about needing to find his brother."

The little group lapsed into silence. Jenna looked out at the activity on Romeo drive. "Well, I guess this is where we part company," she said.

"Let me at least buy you a dress or something," Fiona offered.

Jenna smiled and shook her head. "Naah, I'm good," she said. "Thanks anyway."

"Thank _you_," Fiona said. "And I do hope things work out all right with Haldamir."

"Thanks," Jenna said. "And good luck with your hubby, too. Try to get the guy to lighten up. A little more Yang and less Yin would be good."

Jenna held her hand out, but Fiona moved forward and they shared a hug instead. "And do drop by the castle, sometime," the princess said. "We'll see about those lessons." _And I'll probably need the distraction_, Fiona thought.

"Sure thing, Princess," Jenna said, backing away. She paused, turned to Sir Hoariman, and said with a playful smirk, "See ya 'round, Sir Shades."

"Ma'am," Hoariman acknowledged, and bowed genially.

Jenna giggled, waved to the knight and the princess, and then turned and strolled back down the alley.

"Quite a piece of work, isn't she?" Fiona asked.

"Indeed," Hoariman said, then turned back towards Romeo drive. "Right now, let's get you back into the store." He looked over at her. "Unless you have any other adventures you need to attend to first," he added stoically.

"No," Fiona said glumly, brushing a displaced lock of hair into place. "I think my adventuring days are just about done. And again, I'm sorry for the prince's tirade. I'll speak to him about those threats to have you fired."

"Don't worry about it, Princess," Hoariman said. "This is a young man's profession, anyway, and I've been retiring age for a while. There's a little restaurant off the beaten track that I've been thinking about buying. It's in this little town by the sea, and they make the best caramel around. Running that should make for a nice, quiet way to spend my golden years."

Fiona nodded, then started thinking about when she had first met the man earlier. "Sir Hoariman," she said, "I was wondering. You mentioned our … whatever you call them, code names, or whatever. Anyway, you called Shrek 'Angelface'. That I understand. But why did you think to call me 'Sunflower'?"

Hoariman shrugged. "Yesterday morning," he said. "When you were still … well, going through your green period. I saw you pause by the garden. Of all the flowers there, that was the one you picked."

Foina remembered. It was while she was searching for Shrek and contemplating her father's words, 'I'm only thinking of what's best for you. Perhaps _you_ should do the same'. She had noticed the sunflowers in the garden, and her mind had drifted back to their significance earlier in their relationship. She'd picked it, then sat down and contemplated a lot of things, staring at it and turning it in her hands. She had grinned, remembering Shrek's words at one time when he'd observed to his ogress wife, 'They remind me of you, Fi. Big and bold and beautiful.'

"The way you were studying it, it seemed to have some … special meaning to you," Hoariman was recalling.

"True," Fiona sighed. "It did." Then her brow furrowed. "But … I don't recall seeing you around at the time."

"I was trying to remain … inconspicuous," Hoariman said. "That's part of my job around the castle, observing my charges while remaining unobtrusive, knowing my way around, both the normal passages as well as those that are more … discreet. Well, anyway, that _was _my job." He sighed, paused for a few seconds, and then said with more resolution, "For now, I think we'd best just get you back into that store."

Fiona nodded, and the two of them took a few steps and were soon out of the alley's shadows and into the bright sunlight of Romeo Drive.

"Oh-oh," Hoariman said, an edge to his voice.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Paparazzi," he said, pronouncing the word as if it was an obscenity.

Fiona looked to see a gang of some twenty men with various types of cameras rushing them. Fiona winced as she was blanketed with a barrage of flashes. Hoariman stepped in front of her and growled, "That's enough! Make room for the Princess!"

One photographer, a wiry man in his mid-twenties, rushed towards her anyway. Hoariman quickly stepped into his path, and the man nearly bumped into him. "I said step aside," Hoariman said in a low rumble that nevertheless seemed to bear even more threat than his louder command voice.

"Hey, what about my first amendment rights!" the photographer said peevishly.

"We don't _have_ any amendments," Hoariman pointed out.

"Oh," the photographer said, taken aback. Then, smug and sneering, he countered, "Well, still, you can't intimidate the press with your fascist antic–"

In a flash Hoariman's sword was out and its tip held up to just under the man's chin. People around them gasped as the photographer's eyes grew wide and his mouth of necessity clamped shut. "You were saying, punk?" Hoariman goaded. His cockiness gone, the photographer stared at the knight's dark visor with a mixture of fear and wisely restrained fury. "Go ahead," Hoariman said. "Make my day."

"Please! Sir Hoariman!" Fiona pleaded, tugging at his arm with some urgency. "It's all right. Let's just go."

After a moment, the knight responded, "As you command, Your Highness." He then re-sheaved his sword and bumped the photographer aside. He began leading Fiona through the crowd of photographers and other people who had gathered at the princess's re-appearance. All of them, however, now gave the knight and his charge room as he lead her towards the storefront. Still, the photographers continued snapping pictures, albeit maintaining a distance, and Fiona found her shoes crunching on several discarded flashbulbs as she walked.

As Fiona began mounting the steps of the store, she glanced back over the crowd and, despite the little white spots that now danced across her vision, she again noticed a familiar face – or at least, the new face of a familiar friend – a few yards past the people. She halted, turned towards him, and called, "Donkey!"

The white stallion, still bearing his peculiarly dressed feline rider, was wandering near the edge of the street. Following Fiona's actions, the crowd between the princess and the horse also turned to look at him. Donkey, whose head jerked in the princess's direction upon hearing his name, now looked at her, and his face took on an unexpected expression of disapproval. "Oh, it's you," he said flatly. Noticing the attention he had suddenly garnered from those around them, he said, "Sorry, Princess. Didn't mean to interrupt your little parade. Shrek and us got separated. You haven't seen him, have you? Not that you apparently _care_."

Fiona blinked. Even _Donkey_ was acting strange now. Not knowing how else to respond, she pointed back towards the alleyway and said, "He's back there somewhere."

"Thanks," Donkey said with a tone that brooked no real gratitude. He began clopping towards the alley.

"Wait!" Fiona called. "Donkey … why are you doing this? Why are you acting this way?"

He looked up at her. "As if you didn't know!" he said. Apparently seeing her confused expression, he sighed and continued, "Look, Princess, I don't mean to judge but … well, loyalty goes a long way in my book, and frankly, you disappoint me. After what Shrek did for ya, and now you –"

The cat suddenly broke in. "Donkey! Please!" the feline said, his eyes trained on Fiona admiringly. "That is no way to speak to a princess. Especially a beautiful one that is heir to the throne"

"Ah, quit your book-lickin', Puss," Donkey spat, then with less brusqueness asked his companion, "You got any good watering holes around here? I could use a drink."

"Si," Puss responded. "There is one place near the outskirts of town where my … associates and I gather."

"Well, let's go," Donkey said to Puss. "And don't tell Shrek we spoke to the princess. He wouldn't like it." Then, with a subtle sideways, contemplative glance at Fiona, Donkey muttered, "Maybe we can talk him into at least _trying_ to – well, we'll see." Donkey then faced Fiona directly again, tossed out a less-than-heartfelt, "See ya round, Princess", and then clopped off towards and eventually down the alley. Puss doffed his hat and gave Fiona an elaborate bow just before they disappeared around its corner. Fiona watched them go, flabbergasted.

"What got into _him_," she mumbled under her breath. But she knew. That potion. That rancid potion. It was making them _all_ act strangely now. Why else would Donkey react that way? And why wouldn't he want Shrek to know they'd spoken; _that_ surely made little sense. Still, she _had_ felt another pang of guilt when Donkey mentioned loyalty. Did Donkey know what had happened? No, of course not, how could he?

Then Fiona wondered briefly if perhaps the potion was behind her own feelings towards the stranger. It made her feel better in an odd way thinking it was that rather than a flaw in her own character. But that made less sense. Why would a potion meant to aid her and her True Love cause her to feel emotions opposite to that goal? No, Fiona decided resignedly, she could not sooth her conscience by blaming chemistry.

"Friends of yours?" Hoariman asked from beside her. Fiona, her reverie broken, looked at him questioningly. He jerked his head in the direction of the departed animals.

"Oh. Well, the donkey – I mean, the stallion is," Fiona said. Then with a sad sigh, she added, "Or was."

"I appreciate how you feel," Hoariman said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "I had an orangutan friend once. I know how they can grow on you." He grew oddly pensive for several seconds, then cleared his throat and said, "All right, just a few steps more." They then turned back towards the store, and Fiona gasped.

Shrek was mounting the steps from the opposite side.

"Shrek!" Fiona said. "Where did you come from?"

"What?" Shrek asked, at first confused by the question. Then, after a moment, he said, "Oh. We came up the alley along the opposite side of the building." He gestured behind himself and Fiona saw the other three security knights escorting her three assailants, the latter group bound and stumbling, still not fully conscious. Butcher was in the lead, his face looking like a raw slab of meat that had just taken a pounding from a tenderizing hammer. Baker came next, his mouth hanging open, his left cheek swollen like a holiday turkey stuffed with breading. Chandler brought up the rear; he kept his eyes trained downwards, apparently trying to mask the fear that his waxen countenance unconsciously betrayed.

Fiona pried her eyes from the trio and tried to refocus on Shrek. "Well … Donkey was here," she said, then gestured towards the alley down which her equine friend had vanished. "He was looking for you. You'd better go after him, he's acting very peculiar. Even for Donkey."

When Fiona turned back towards Shrek she was surprised to see him frozen, an expression on his face like a deer caught in coachlights. After a moment he shook his head and said, "Yes, well, perhaps later. First, we need to finish our business in the store."

"But Shrek!" Fiona objected.

"Now, now, dear," Shrek said comfortingly. "Donkey is a big … uh, being. I'm sure whatever he wants can wait a little while."

"But –" she began.

"Come, dear," he said, taking her around the waist. He began leading her towards the store.

"If you'd like, Princess, I could go after your 'Donkey'," Hoariman offered.

Fiona started to respond, but Shrek's harsh words came out first. "_No_, Sir Hoariman", he said, releasing her and facing the knight. "We'd like you to guard the door, protecting the princess, as is your _job_ … for a short while longer, anyway. Do you think you can manage _that_?"

"Shrek!" Fiona said. "You can't –"

"That's all right, Princess," Hoariman said, his voice low and even, betraying only the slightest quiver of anger. "Your husband is correct. That is my job."

"Good! I'm glad we're agreed, then," Shrek said.

Shrek was starting to turn away when Hoariman asked, "Did you find him, sire?"

Shrek looked back at him, and Fiona thought she saw him blush slightly. "What do you mean?" Shrek asked.

"That dark-haired man," Hoariman said. He then explained, his tone coldly analytical, "After all, my men could have rounded up the scoundrels themselves. It would have made more sense for you to have accompanied the princess back here. Thus I assume the real reason you wanted to stay behind was to find this stranger."

Shrek stared at Hoariman for a moment, the prince's face blank. Then one corner of Shrek's mouth twitched, and then his face broke into a full smile and he said smoothly, "Very good, Sir Hoariman. It appears you _do_ have some deductive abilities. Yes, actually, I _was_ curious to find this mysterious rescuer. He had performed an invaluable service to the kingdom in saving its princess and to me personally in saving my True Love, and I wished to make sure he received a just reward."

"Indeed," Hoariman said. "And did you find him?"

"No," Shrek said, disappointed. "He was gone … or at least chose not to reveal himself."

"Pity," Hoariman said.

"Quite," Shrek agreed.

The two men stared at each other. Fiona looked back and forth between them for a moment, then said, "It doesn't matter. I already offered, but he didn't want a reward."

"Really?" Shrek asked skeptically. "He was a rare man, then. I've chanced upon few purely altruistic people in my … um, during my lifetime."

"Yes," Fiona said, allowing herself a brief remembrance. "He was quite … unique."

After a moment, Shrek said, "Yes, well then, let us finish our business here, shall we?" He proffered his arm to Fiona.

"Very well," Fiona said, and took his arm. She indeed wanted to finish here and return to the castle. Actually, she _preferred_ to return to the castle. What she truly _wanted_ … well, she remembered sadly, _that_ was something she could no longer have.

She cast a last curious, longing glance towards the alleyway entrance just before Shrek led her back through the fashion store doors.


	8. Prelude

****

Layer 8: Prelude

Author's note: The green-ringed toadstools mentioned in this chapter with their particular properties were introduced by Michael Anthony Steele in his book _Open Centipede! (Shrek Tales #3)_.

* * *

Shrek never did attempt to find Donkey. For some reason she couldn't quite grasp, Fiona was not surprised.

Once back in the shop, the princess muttered some half-hearted apology which she didn't quite remember to Edwina and Carçon. Fiona's mind overflowed with too many confusing thoughts, her feelings were overwhelmed by too many conflicting emotions, to really care anymore. She felt drained and lethargic, and the shop with its fixation on shallow outward appearances now seemed especially trite and banal after her encounters in the alleys. She ignored Carçon's silently reproachful gaze and placidly followed his directions as he examined her now dirty and ripped dress. "Don't worry, sweetie," he'd said, as if it mattered to her. "I can fix this. The Fairy Godmother's not the _only_ miracle worker in this town!" Shortly thereafter he produced a measuring tape and began taking her dimensions. As he knelt before her and wrapped the tape around her waist he shook his head and made a little 'tsk tsk' sound; this sorely tempted Fiona to knee him in the nose. She managed to restrain herself. Still, it was the most emotion she could muster. Aside from that, and the dull throb that had returned to the back of her skull where she had been struck, she felt numb.

Shrek, however, seemed to have no problems resuming his business here. He posed and preened in front of a mirror as Edwina fussed and bothered, tugging at sleeves and straightening lapels as he tried on an array of chic outfits. Fiona glanced in their direction every so often and sighed resignedly.

After an hour or so they were finally finished. Shrek had eventually decided to don the outfit that he had been wearing in the alley for the ball that night, but he also ordered a dozen more for future occasions. Edwin gladly took that order and promised that his white and gold outfit and Fiona's sequined dress would be adjusted and delivered to the castle in time for the ball. In the meantime, the royal pair resumed the clothes they had been wearing when they had arrived, and then re-boarded their carriage for the return trip to the castle.

There were fewer people now, most having tired of waiting for the couple to exit the shop. Still, there were enough subjects along to the road for Shrek to smile and wave, especially if the subjects were female. Fiona, however, was having difficulty getting worked up about that. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She rested her chin on the palm of one hand, the elbow of that arm propped along her side of the carriage. Her face took on a somewhat dreamy expression as her mind wandered back to the alley, the dramatic arrival of the dark-haired stranger, his heroic rescue of her, and the way he had looked at her afterwards. She realized it was not the healthiest subject to dwell upon, but she found she couldn't help herself. She both dreaded and hoped that she would catch yet another glimpse of him along the side of the road, but to her relief and disappointment she did not.

As they neared the gates of the castle Fiona finally pulled her thoughts away from the stranger and looked over at Shrek. He was giving yet another wave and wink to another trio of tittering young women along the side of the road, who hid their faces in mock shyness at his attentions.

"You're really getting into this, aren't you?" Fiona couldn't keep from asking.

"What's that, dear?" Shrek asked, turning his attention to her with some effort.

"The crowd and the waving and all that," she replied. "You really seem to be … digging on it, as Donkey would say."

He stared at her for a moment, apparently taken somewhat aback by the trace of bitterness in her voice. "Is that wrong?" he asked.

Fiona sighed. "No, not _wrong_," she said. "It's just not … _you_."

"Well, darling," Shrek said, a bit flustered, "I realize I may seem a little … different … but really, inside it's still me. But it wouldn't do for me to ignore all my – er, our – I mean, _your_ subjects, would it? Like it or not, you _are_ the heir apparent to the crown, are you not? And am I not your husband? And so … correct me if I'm wrong, since I'm obviously new at this … but aren't we therefore expected to maintain a certain public decorum? Really, dearest, I thought we'd already discussed this before."

Fiona sighed again as they passed through the castle gateway. "Yes, I know," she admitted. "But you seem so … _enthusiastic_. And what was with the clothes?"

"Clothes?" he echoed, not understanding her question.

"Yes, back the store. I never knew you and mirrors to get along so well."

A corner of Shrek's mouth turned up in a small grin. "Well, muffin cake, you must admit that, in all honesty, I do cut a rather dashing figure in this body, do I not?"

"Yes, you're very handsome," she admitted dryly.

"Thank you," he said, a full, satisfied grin breaking on his face as he apparently mistook her acknowledgment for a compliment. "Then, with a body like this, and with the position our marriage has thrust upon me, you must admit that I am obliged to select the best looking outfit I can."

Fiona lifted a cynical eyebrow. "That reeks of rationalization," she said. "I _saw_ you. You were _enjoying_ yourself."

Shrek looked back at her, seemingly confused for a moment as how to respond. Then, suddenly, he took on an indignant air. "Very well," he allowed. "Perhaps I _was_. Is that a crime? Maybe it's the potion, or maybe it's just something latent within myself, but I find I have an appreciation now for some of the finer things that I overlooked before. Beautiful clothes …" he paused, regaining control of his emotions. Then his voice lowered an octave as he continued smoothly "… and beautiful women."

"You mean those women that you keep waving to," Fiona said, turning away from him.

"No," Shrek said softly. He reached over, took a gentle hold on her chin, and slowly turned her face back towards his. "I mean yourself, the most divinely beautiful woman, not only in this kingdom, but in all kingdoms everywhere."

Fiona stared into his eyes. She wanted to feel something. She really did. "But … you haven't been to all kingdoms everywhere," she eventually noted, an attempt at a tease.

Shrek shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he replied, his voice smooth and polished. "The only possible rival you may have would be from Olympus, and that from the goddess Aphrodite herself. And even then I wouldn't book wager on her."

Fiona smiled despite herself. Shrek had apparently been sneaking peeks through her books of fairytales to come up with such a line. Still, he was trying. She did not find his explanations for his recent behavior entirely convincing, but she realized she owed him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it wasn't as if he had started sporting stick-on beauty marks or – Heaven forbid – wearing _lipstick_, like some of the most egocentric of the royals and aristocrats did. The very thought of _that_ made her shudder.

"Whoa!" Sir Hoariman called as he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the castle, followed by the carriage and the horses of the other knights. Shrek continued holding Fiona's chin and looking into her face. He leaned forward and began parting his lips for a kiss. Fiona felt an inexplicable urge to pull back.

"Ah, you two look splendid together! I assume the venture into town was successful, eh wot?" King Harold's voice boomed.

Shrek rolled his eyes and released Fiona's chin. Fiona, for her part, felt relief at the interruption. The two of them turned to face Harold, who was standing a few feet away on the bottom step of the castle. Beside him stood Queen Lillian.

"Yes, the trip was marvelous," Shrek replied as one of Hoariman's knights opened the carriage door. Then Shrek spared a spiteful glance towards Hoariman himself and added, "Except for a couple of small things."

"Shrek, not now," Fiona whispered harshly as the knight that had opened the door helped her down from the carriage.

"Small things?" Lillian asked, curious.

"Yes," Shrek said, descending from the carriage after Fiona. He then turned to Hoariman, who was still sitting on his horse. "Sir," Shrek said, "you're fired."

"Fired!" The king and queen said together, surprised.

"Shrek!" Fiona implored. "You can't do this!"

"I know, I know. I don't have the authority," Shrek said, apparently mistaking her meaning. Then he turned to Harold and continued, "But I'm sure that the king will back me up, especially after I tell him how this knight's negligence endangered his daughter's life."

"What!" the elder royals again echoed each other, their surprised expressions changing to shock.

"It's not his fault!" Fiona said to Shrek, then turned to her parents. "It's not his fault!" she repeated.

"_What's_ not his fault?" Harold asked.

"Yes," Lillian said. "What happened?"

"He allowed your daughter to inadvertently wander without escort into a particularly foul part of town, where she was set upon by three hoodlums," Shrek explained. "Fortunately, she was rescued. But she's lucky to be alive."

"Fiona!" Harold exclaimed.

"Did you really do that?" Lillian asked.

Fiona blushed, dropped her eyes, and nodded.

"_Why_!" Lillian and Harold asked together, another stereoscopic exclamation.

Fiona stared down at the ground, silent for several seconds, her blush deepening. She felt like she was a little girl again, her hand caught in a cookie jar. "I … just had to get away for a little while," she eventually muttered, the same half-truth she had told before.

"Your Majesties," Sir Hoariman said, dismounting his horse and facing the older royal couple. "The prince is quite correct. I failed in my duty."

"No!" Fiona said, looking up at him. "I was the one who –"

Hoariman turned to her and held up a hand. "No, Your Highness," he said. "It is my responsibility to watch for any perils. I'm just relieved that you escaped unharmed." He then faced the king and queen again. "I humbly offer my apologies. And also, my resignation."

"No!" Fiona objected. "You –"

"It's all right, Princess," Hoariman said, turning towards her. "As I said earlier, I've been thinking about retiring for a while now." He again turned to the monarchs. "Your Majesties?"

Harold and Lillian looked at each other for a few seconds, their expressions awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually Harold looked back at the security chief and said. "Well … very well, Sir Hoariman. We accept. But if you'd like us to review the matter …"

"Thank you, your Majesty. That won't be necessary," Hoariman said. He then bowed to them. The monarchs nodded uneasily back. Next, he turned to Fiona. "Your Highness," he said, bowing. Fiona, stunned, opened her mouth to say something, but her mind could think of nothing further to say. Instead, again blushing, she nodded.

Hoariman then turned to Shrek. "Your Highness," he said, bowing more stiffly and not quite as deeply as had to the others. There was also a detectable coldness in his voice as he spoke the title. Shrek's face broke into a self-satisfied smirk as he nodded back shallowly and dismissively.

Hoariman straightened, took hold of his stallion's bridle, then turned his back on the royals and began leading the horse back to the stables.

Shrek watched the man go. The prince's smirk deepened and he mumbled to himself, "So much for 'unexpected, coordinated threats'."

Fiona stared at Shrek. She felt a spark ignite within her, and the melancholy that had haunted her since her return from the alley burned away as her temper flared. "Is _that_ what you're holding against the man?" she asked, her top lip curling from her teeth in a sneer. "That he wounded your precious pride? That he ticked you off? And that justifies taking pleasure in the downfall of his career, so you can get a little petty revenge?"

Shrek looked taken aback. He stared at her for a moment, slack-jawed. Then a small, uneasy smile graced his lips and he said, "Fiona! Darling, no, that's not it at all. You don't understand –" With that he reached for her. But Fiona stepped back, an involuntary move but one she did not regret. Shrek again stared after her, his hand still outstretched awkwardly.

"You're right," Fiona said, her voice strained with frustration. "I don't understand. I don't understand how you can be so petty. I don't understand how you can suddenly become so egotistically pompous. I don't understand what's happened to your speech –"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Shrek implored, sparing a quick, edgy glance over at the open-mouthed monarchs, as if trying to gauge their reactions. "The potion –"

"I'm not talking about your _voice_ this time, Shrek!" Fiona said. "I'm talking about the very words you use. You never spoke like that before. I don't understand how the potion could change that. I don't understand how it could change you into someone so … so … _cold_. So _empty_. So …"

Fiona trailed off. Shrek now appeared genuinely hurt. He looked over at her parents, embarrassment now also registering on her husband's face. Fiona, too, looked over at the king and queen. They in turned glanced between the younger royals and each other awkwardly, as if not really sure what to say or even if they should say anything. Harold, particularly, looked nearly sick as his gaze shifted between his daughter and Shrek, and the king seemed almost afraid to look either of them directly in the eyes.

The princess felt her anger change into frustration. She blushed again. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess don't understand … _anything_."

With that Fiona turned and dashed up the castle steps, past her parents and away from Shrek. She heard Shrek's "Fiona! Wait!" and Harold's "Darling! Please!" But she didn't stop. She pulled open a castle door and entered the edifice just as the first tears started stinging her eyes. Silently cursing her weakness, she fought back the tears as she ran up the stairway. She finally reached her room after what seemed an eon, entered it, slammed the door behind her and then turned and rested her back against it. She stood there for several seconds like that, caught between wanting to pull herself together and suppress her weeping and yearning to fling herself onto the bed and give into a good, long crying jag.

Fiona eventually pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. Then she looked down at the cloth in her hands, considering it for a moment. A sad, wry grin played at the corner of her mouth as her eyes shifted over to the fireplace mantle upon which set her childhood figurines. She put the handkerchief away as she wandered to the mantle and looked at the toys – the knight with its sword drawn, the ogre laying on its back at the knight's feet, one arm held up as if defending itself … and the princess, holding out its own tiny handkerchief. Fiona picked up the princess figurine.

"Dear knight," its tinny voice said, "I pray that you take this favor as a token of my gratitude."

Fiona gave a mirthless chuckle. She looked at the toys on the mantle a little while longer, thinking. Then she reached over, picked up the ogre figure, lowered its arm, and placed it standing up. She then set the princess back on the mantle, only this time facing the ogre, as if presenting the handkerchief to it. She then picked up the knight, stared at it in her hand for a few seconds, then set it back on the mantle but off to the side, facing the stuffed dragon as if they were in combat. Let them have fun with each other, she thought. Dragon would be amused.

Fiona turned from the mantle and wandered listlessly to her bed. She took a seat on its edge, sat there for a few moments, head bowed, and heaved a great sigh. Suddenly she released a little shriek as the white Bichon Frise that the Fairy Godmother had given her jumped into her lap. The little dog barked twice, and then just sat there, looking up at Fiona and panting. After a moment, however, it seemed to sense Fiona's mood, and gave a sympathetic little whimper.

Fiona smiled down at the canine. "Aren't you a sweet little puppy?" the princess said, and scratched it behind one of its ears. It licked her hand. Fiona giggled. "You're a cute gift," she said. "I just wish the Fairy Godmother had let her … assistance come to an end when she gave you to me."

There was a soft knock at the door. "Fiona?" a voice – Lillian's voice – called from the other side. "May I come in?"

Fiona sighed again. "Sure, Mom," she said.

The door opened and Lillian stepped inside. She looked around for a moment and then saw Fiona sitting on the edge of the bed, gently petting the dog. The canine had shifted its position when Lillian had knocked and was now staring at the queen, its tongue hanging out as it panted and wagged its tail.

"A friend?" Lillian asked, smiling, as she approached her daughter.

"Yes, one of the few whose affection has been unconditional," Fiona responded.

Lillian, who didn't quite appear to know how to take that comment, took a seat on the bed beside the princess.

"Where's Dad?" Fiona asked.

"He wanted to have a word with Shrek after your … remarks outside," Lillian said. "I … um … judge from those remarks that things haven't really been going well?"

Fiona choked back a laugh, then simply said, "No, Mom, not exactly."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Lillian asked. "Perhaps there's something I can do to help."

Fiona shrugged. "Thanks, Mom, but I don't see how," she said. "Unless you can rescind your invitation, change us back to ogres and send us back to our swamp."

Lillian shook her head, not in disapproval but in wonder. "You'd really prefer that?" she asked.

Fiona paused, then nodded. "Yes, actually," she admitted. Seeing the incomprehension in her mother's face, she said, "I don't expect you to understand. How could I? I don't understand it myself. But it's still true, still real."

Lillian released a little laugh. Fiona looked at her and frowned. "You're laughing at me?"

"Oh, no dear, Heavens no!" the queen replied, becoming serious. "Well, not in the way you mean. It's just so … well, the entire point of the tower was to free you from the enchantment that turned you into an ogre and secure your future with a handsome prince charming. It's just so … unexpected that the reverse should have happened."

"I know," Fiona said. "An ironic twist on the witch's spell, isn't it?"

Lillian frowned. "Witch's spell?" she asked.

"Of course," Fiona said. Seeing that her mother still didn't understand, she said, "You know – _By night one way, by day another, this shall be the norm. Until you find True Love's first kiss, then take love's true form_. The spell that changed me from a normal little girl. Who would have guessed that 'love's true form' would be that of an ogress after all?"

"Fiona," Lillian said, still confused, "there was no witch's spell."

"_What_?" Fiona asked, becoming confused herself.

"No, dear. You were _born_ under an enchantment. You changed between human and ogress every sunup and sundown from the day you entered this world."

Fiona's brow knitted. "Really?" she asked, dumbstruck.

"Yes. Your father and I eventually turned to the Fairy Godmother, who arranged for the castle spell to _break_ the enchantment, but –"

"So it was natural," Fiona said.

"What?"

"I'd always been an ogress," Fiona said. Her eyes had taken on a thoughtful glaze, and she was staring off as if into space. "At least, I'd never been wholly human. My ogress self … it wasn't forced on me. It's part of who I am."

"Well, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose," Lillian said, unsure as to the direction this was now going. "But I don't see what difference –"

"Then why did I believe that a witch …" Fiona concentrated, temporarily ignoring the queen. When _had_ Fiona first heard those words? It was so long ago. It was – then she remembered. Her eyes widened. She stood suddenly, the little Bichon Frise jumping from her lap to the floor with a little yelp. "Dad!" Fiona exclaimed. "I remember one day when we were discussing my … situation, shortly before I was sent to Dragon's castle. He told me a witch's spell was how my condition came to be. And he recited the words of the spell." She looked back down at her mother. "Why would he do that?" the princess asked.

"Well, I'm sure I don't know, dear," Lillian said. "But –"

"Unless it was to make me despise my ogress self even more. By leading me to think that it was something evil and foreign forced upon me by black magic, it would make me even more determined to be rid of it, no matter how many years I spent in that castle." Fiona, again losing herself in her own musings, turned away from her mother and wandered across the room out onto the balcony. There she heard a "yah!" cry from the front of the castle. She looked around the side of the edifice to see Shrek far below, riding a galloping white charger out through the castle gates. She wondered where in the world was he going _now_.

"Fiona," Lillian said from just inside the balcony door, "I'm sure whatever your father said, it was meant for your own good."

Fiona's brow knitted. They were the same words that Fiona herself had used to excuse her parents' actions when Shrek – the _old _ Shrek – had criticized them. 'Hello, they locked you in a _tower'_, he'd said. She had instinctively rebuffed him and defended her parents. Now … belatedly … she let a little of his criticality creep in. "Was it really for _my_ good, Mom …" Fiona asked, still staring down at the castle grounds. Then she turned to face her mother and continued, "… or for _yours_?"

Lillian looked taken aback. "_What_?"

"So you two wouldn't be burdened with the embarrassment of such an imperfect child?"

Lillian at first looked aghast, then her face quickly took on an expression of restrained anger . "That is not fair, Fiona," she stated, each syllable hard and clipped. "I cannot tell how much it tore us apart inside to be away from you for so long. Perhaps it was a lack of imagination on our part, but we really didn't feel you could find happiness in the condition you were in. We really wanted a happily-ever-after for you, and that seemed the only way to get it."

Fiona stared into her mother's now fiery eyes that blazed beneath her own knitted brow. The unexpectedly passionate expression from the previously placid queen shocked the princess, and she briefly wondered if this was what Shrek saw when he beheld Fiona in their more … contentious moments together. At any rate, Fiona relented. This was a discussion better left for another place and time. After all, her mother was here now because she wanted to help. And besides, "You're right, Mom."

Lillian lifted an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I did get my happily-ever-after. At least I thought I did." Fiona sighed. "I was sure I did." She felt more tears threaten, and turned away from her mother and looked back out towards the castle gates. There she saw _another_ rider. This one was far different from the first. He was of a smaller and somewhat slumped stature, covered head-to-foot in a plain brown cloak, and he – or she – was riding a dark chestnut colt that trotted lazily out the gateway. Fiona felt a brief twinge of curiosity, but let it subside. It wasn't as if whatever business the rider had affected _her_.

Fiona felt her mother's gentle touch on her shoulder. "Tell me all about it," the queen said.

Fiona turned to look at Lillian. The queen's face had lost all trace of irritation and had resumed its benevolent, concerned countenance. "Help _me_ to understand," Lillian said. "Tell me how you and Shrek … came to be."

Fiona nodded, and let her mother lead her back to the bed. The two again sat side-by-side on the bed's edge. Lillian cupped her daughter's hands and listened intently as the princess told her the tale: the unconventional rescue from Dragon's castle, where Shrek showed his courage and his resourcefulness; her shock at discovering that her rescuer was, of all things, an _ogre_; the first hours after the rescue, with their sniping and bickering; the first night, when Fiona had overheard Shrek reveal his own inner thoughts and feelings and wounds, and caused her to reconsider so much; the incredible second day, from making them breakfast to the confrontation with Hood's bandits and then through what they realized in retrospect was their courtship – Fiona laughed at her mother's amused yet somewhat repulsed expression when she told her of how much she had enjoyed the weedrats. Then the princess told of that night in the windmill, the discussion with Donkey and how Shrek, overhearing it, had so tragically mistaken what he heard. She told of how she had spent the rest of that night thinking over so hard the lessons and the experiences and the emotions of the previous days. She told of fussing with the sunflower as she considered what she should do, of her eventual decision, and then of the heartbreaking encounter with Shrek as morning dawned.

She told of the miniature tyrant Farquaad, of her rush to be wed and be rid of the ogress inside – she nearly said 'just as you would have wished' but held her tongue there – and then she told of the wedding itself, and how Shrek had barged in to reclaim her. She told of her decision to reject Farquaad and accept the transformation, there in front of almost all the people of Duloc. Lillian greeted this part of Fiona's tale with a look of surprise and – was that admiration? Fiona then told of Farquaad's attempt to arrest them, of Dragon's rescue of the two ogres, and then … she told of True Love's first kiss. Here Fiona felt tears flow again, but they were no longer tears of pain, and she let them fall freely. Then she told of the dramatic breaking of the spell, and the surprise aftermath where they discovered that she had been changed into a permanent ogress … or at least they had _thought_ it was permanent.

"Then we eventually wed," Fiona concluded, "and I was so happy. So very happy. I thought this was truly the happily-ever-after of the storybooks, despite our … unconventionality." She sighed. "I guess I believed it too much."

"How so?" Lillian asked.

"Because in happily-ever-afters, everything turns out perfectly," Fiona replied. "And so, when your invitation came, I thought that yes, of _course_ you and Dad and Shrek and I would hit it off marvelously, and we'd all instantly become one big happy family, without a conflict or care in the world."

Lillian, who had listened to Fiona with a benevolent smile through most of her story, now frowned. "Is that all you believe happily-ever-afters are, dear?" she asked. "The end of strife and struggle and conflict, where everything is magically taken care of?"

"Well … yes, actually," Fiona admitted, although from the sound of Lillian's voice she felt as if perhaps that was the wrong answer. "I mean, isn't that how the fairytales end?"

"Oh, darling," Lillian said consolingly, patting her now uncertain daughter's hand. "The end of struggle and conflict would be … well, it would be the end of life itself. To live _is_ to struggle, it _is_ to endure. Happily-ever-after isn't an end, Fiona. It's a beginning. When a couple embarks upon a happily-ever-after, their life's problems aren't all taken away, just the obstacles that kept them from being together. It's not a fate, it's an opportunity. An opportunity to face the rest of their lives together, as one loving, caring, mutually supportive unit, confronting and overcoming conflicts and difficulties, as well as sharing in joys and happiness. Happily-ever-afters aren't just granted, Fiona. They're what you work for. It's _that_ which makes them all the more gratifying … and magical."

Fiona frowned. She wasn't expecting an explanation like that. Also, "That's not the impression I get from the Fairy Godmother," she noted.

Lillian chuckled. "My dear," she said, "the Fairy Godmother is rather good at marketing and a bit obsessed with … material trappings. But really, for all her magic, the best she can do is set the stage. The principals she assists must do the rest." Then Lillian's smile faded to a frown, and she looked away pensively, as if a distasteful thought just crossed her mind.

"What is it, Mom?" Fiona asked.

Lillian looked back at her daughter, then resumed her smile. "I'm sorry, dear," she said. "I was just thinking … well, there are _other_ things the Fairy Godmother does which … quite frankly, I don't approve of. Love potions that alter not the physical characteristics but … reshape the emotions. That make you fall in love with people you would otherwise not care for."

Fiona thought about that. She had heard tales of such potions, of course. But the thought of actually taking one, of being forced to fall in love with someone you didn't like … perhaps even _despised_ … she physically shuddered. "That would be like … like having your soul stolen."

"My thoughts precisely," Lillian agreed. "But that's nothing to concern you now, dear."

Fiona looked down. "Isn't it?" she wondered.

Lillian frowned again. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Do you think that … a potion could cause a person to … fall _out_ of love?" Fiona asked, looking back up at her mother's face.

"You mean … you and Shrek?" Lillian asked.

Fiona nodded, casting her eyes back down. "Ever since he changed physically, he's been so different. That is, a different _person_. I mean, you must have noticed it, even in the short time you saw him as his true self."

"Yes," Lillian agreed, "I believe I have. So now you're saying you … don't love him anymore?"

Fiona paused, then reluctantly nodded. "I've tried, Mom. I've really tried," she said, and again felt tears start to well in her eyes. She impatiently swiped them away with a hand and then continued, "But … I just don't feel the same way about him anymore. I've tried but … I just don't. Now when he tries to kiss me, I feel like … like I want to recoil. And then today in town, I saw another man who …" Fiona hesitated. She had not meant to tell her mother about this, but she had become carried away. She looked into Lillian's face, and saw her examining her daughter with an eyebrow newly cocked in curiosity. Fiona sighed, then continued, "… a man who I _did_ have … amorous feeling for. He was the one who saved me from those attackers that Shrek told you about. But even before then, I felt …" She trailed off as the tears began flowing again. She suddenly threw herself against her mother and buried her head against her shoulder. "Oh, Mom," she wailed, hugging Lillian tightly, "What's happening to me? What am I becoming? And what's become of Shrek? What's to become of _us_?"

"Shhhh," Lillian said softly, hugging Fiona and patting her back gently. "It'll be all right. Remember what I said about struggles –"

"But this is different, Mom! We can't overcome this together because … we're not the same people that fell in love anymore. It's ruined. I've ruined it. He didn't want to come – but we came. He wanted to go back – but we stayed. He was happy to be what he was, and I made him feel – oh, God, Mom! I've ruined it! I had my happily-ever-after in my hands, and let it slip through my fingers. I've ruined it all –"

"No! Fiona, don't think that way," Lillian said, and then took Fiona by the shoulders and held her out at arms' length. The princess was still looking down and crying. "Fiona!" Lillian snapped. "You mustn't think so negatively. You'll get through this. You _must_ get through this. You've been through a traumatic ordeal today. But you'll endure. If your love is truly strong, it will endure even this."

Fiona sobs slowly receded. She wiped her now red-rimmed eyes again, and then asked, "But … what if it doesn't?"

Lillian sighed. "Well … then perhaps it wasn't meant to be after all," she said, dropping her grip from Fiona's shoulders and rubbing her daughter's arms.

"But it _was_, Mom," Fiona insisted. "At least, it was until Shrek …" She trailed off, and then a thought struck her. "Mom, I've noticed that the Fairy Godmother can be … overenthusiastic in getting people to go along what she thinks is good for them. Do you think it's possible that she might have tricked Shrek into taking the potion?"

"What?" Lillian asked, surprised.

"I mean, Shrek was so proud of being who he was and what he was. He really loved being an ogre. Well, except for the taunts and attacks from ignorant humans. And getting chased by villagers with torches and pitchforks … okay, that can get a bit tiresome after a while. Still, for him to willingly give that up, just for me …"

"You don't think he'd do that without being tricked?"

Fiona pondered for a moment. "Yes, actually, he probably would, if he believed it was necessary to keep us together. Still … if I could actually hear him, the _real_ him, tell me he would do that, give that up for me … Mom, that would be the greatest compliment in the world." She paused, then added, "Well, next-to-greatest."

"And what would be greater?"

"If Shrek had left the decision up to me, which form for us to take, human or ogre," she replied. "As much as I loved him, that was a fault that irked me sometimes, how he would make decisions for us instead of considering what _I_ wanted. I don't think he meant to be presumptuous, it probably came of his being a loner for so long, but it was still irritating." She shrugged. "Anyway, as to choosing forms … you know, when I chose Shrek over Farquaad, I still thought with True Love's First Kiss I'd end up human … like I am now? I didn't realize that in choosing Shrek that I was choosing to remain an ogress."

"And if you did know … at that time … would you still have chosen as you did?"

A little smile creased her lips. "Yes, I believe I would have," she said. "Still … it would have been nice to have known ahead of time. Fortunately, everything worked out wonderfully." Then the smile faded. "Until we arrived here."

"Oh, Fiona," Lillian said regretfully. "I just wish you'd have sent word _before_ you arrived what to expect."

Lillian's words brought the terrible recollections of that first meeting two days before flooding into Fiona's memory, and before she realized what she was saying, Fiona responded, "Why? So you could have snuck us in surreptitiously through the back entrance?"

Lillian's eyes grew hard, and then in an equally hard tone she said, "That's _not_ what I meant."

"You're right, Mom," Fiona apologized, ashamed at allowing the bad memory to lead to such a comment. "You're here trying to help me, and I take a cheap shot like that. I'm sorry."

Lillian considered her daughter's contrite expression, seemed to recognize its sincerity, and then resumed her pleasant manner. "That's all right, dear. And I apologize that we didn't greet you as warmly as we should have. But seeing the two of you … as you were. Well, I'm afraid we _were_ a bit shocked to see you … like that."

Fiona gave a sardonic half-grin. "Shrek said you would be," she admitted. "But I pooh-poohed him. I guess that's why I didn't try sending word ahead of us … to do so would have been to admit he might be right and … well, I guess I was being as stubborn as him."

"Yes," Lillian said, actually chuckling. "I'm quite used to having to cope with an obstinate spouse. You might have noticed that Harold can be as stubborn as any ogre when he sets his mind to it."

"Yes, I did notice that," Fiona said. "At least, the day we arrived. But today, he seems to be acting so … differently. Is this normal for him?"

Lillian sighed. "Not really," she said.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to him about this morning, when you told Shrek and me to go ahead into the dining hall for breakfast?"

"What? Oh, that," Lillian said, suddenly shifting her eyes and speaking with a apprehensive tone. "Yes, well, his actions this morning were … curious. I thought that perhaps … he might have known something more about this potion business than he was letting on."

Fiona squinted. "You think that he had something to do with it?"

"Well, that thought _did_ occur to me."

"Why was that?"

Lillian shrugged. "It's hard to pin down; just a feeling I had. Sometimes your father can be … transparently clandestine, if that makes any sense. At any rate, he denied vehemently having any foreknowledge of Shrek taking the potion."

"Do you believe him?"

"I'm not really sure, to be frank. But even if he did know, or assisted in any way, then I'm certain that he only had your best interests in mind."

Fiona sighed. "Yes," she said, frowning. "It seems that everybody around me keeps acting in what _they_ perceive as my best interests. Heaven forbid somebody actually ask _me_ what my best interests might be."

"I know it's frustrating," Lillian sympathized. "Tell you what, why don't you come down for tea and cake and we can talk some more?"

Fiona looked at her mother. Conversation over tea and cake. How … normal. Normal for this societal strata, anyway. But that was part of the problem. Lillian was, as far as Fiona could tell, the ideal fairytale queen, practically perfect in every way. How could Fiona really expect her to understand, to truly grasp what her abnormal daughter was going through? The answer was simple: she couldn't. The princess appreciated her mother's attempts, and the conversation _had_ helped comfort Fiona, and had enlightened her on a few points, but she really didn't think there was anywhere else for it to go … anywhere else that Lillian could empathetically follow, anyway. If Fiona kept talking about herself and Shrek, she'd start to sound like she was whining, but she really didn't feel up to talking about anything else right now, either.

"No thanks, Mom, I'm not hungry," Fiona eventually said, standing up from the bed. Lillian stood as well.

"But Fiona," Lillian said, "you really should –"

"Perhaps later," Fiona interrupted, forcing a little smile.

Lillian sighed. "Very well," she said. "But if there's anything else I can do …"

"Thanks, Mom. But … I'd like to be alone for a while … wander around the castle, check out some old haunts. Maybe that'll help me get my head together. But you've already been a big help. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder … literally."

The two hugged again briefly but warmly. When they separated Lillian said, "Well, I'm always available if you need anything, dear. Please don't hesitate to let me know if you do."

"I won't. And thanks again."

Lillian smiled, then squeezed Fiona's hands in hers. "I'll see you later at the ball, then," the queen said.

Fiona smiled back, but didn't say anything in return.

Lillian nodded, then turned and headed out the doorway, gently closing the door behind her.

Fiona stared at the closed door for a few seconds … and then her stomach growled. From its seat upon the princess's bed, the little white dog barked in response.

"Thanks for mentioning food, Mom," Fiona muttered sarcastically. It was true; she really hadn't been hungry when she'd said she wasn't. But now that the subject had come up, it seemed that her stomach had ideas of its own. The hours since breakfast and the activity in between had convinced it the time for refueling had arrived.

"But I'm _not_ going to have tea and cake," Fiona said, turning to the dog. "I'm really not in the mood for that. Having to sit there prim and proper, making sure you use the correct fingers when picking up the little cup and that your bites aren't too big, having servants hovering over you the whole time …" Fiona made a sour face.

Fiona's stomach growled again, and the dog barked once more. Fiona smiled wryly. "Don't worry, Puppy," she said. "I'm not an ogre about to attack you." Then she remembered. Ogres …

She turned to where some of their luggage was still sitting on the floor, packed. She went over, found a satchel that they'd filled with snacks and had kept handy during the trip, and opened it. There was some food still in it. But it was food preferred by ogres. Fiona hoped there was something there still edible in her present state.

She reached in and pulled out an ear of fresh hard-kernelled corn, the husk still on. She sighed. Even peeled, the raw kernels would likely break her now delicate human teeth. Even if they didn't she doubted she could digest it in her present state. She tossed it aside and then scrounged further in the sack. She pulled out a large raw onion. Fiona stared at the vegetable for a few moments, another sardonic smile gracing her lips. She could imagine the reactions she would get after munching down one of these and then greeting her guests at the ball, the looks on their faces as she got close and greeted them with a 'Hhhhow do you do?' Impulsively, she took a big bite from the onion. Her taste buds were immediately overwhelmed with the strong flavor and the fumes released when she crunched into it made her eyes water. She dashed to the fireplace and spat the bite out. When she had been under the previous enchantment, she had found that certain ogre traits would bleed through to her human self, such as the ability to appreciate certain ogre treats. She remembered, for example, the delectable weedrats and the silky taste of the spiderweb 'candy' she had made for Shrek. But not now. Now there was no longer an ogre side to bleed through.

After clearing her mouth of the onion, Fiona turned and hurled the rest of the vegetable through the open balcony doors and over the railing, frustration rippling through her. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept, and not just from residual onion fumes. Meanwhile, from somewhere on the castle grounds below the balcony a voice drifted up crying, "Ow! Hey!"

After a few seconds Fiona wiped her eyes, straightened, and returned to the satchel. She pulled out a codfish. It had been heavily smoked and brined to preserve the meat. Fiona took a small, experimental bite. It tasted a bit salty, and was tougher to chew with this set of teeth and jaw muscles, but was still edible. She'd have to take care not to eat the bones now, rather than grind them between her molars and swallow them with the rest of the meat like she could before. She also realized she'd best not attempt to eat the head – a pity, really, since fish heads had become one of her favorites.

Fiona poured herself a glass of water from a side table, and then sat down and ate the fish. _There_, she thought, looking down at the little pile of bones, fins, and head when she had finished, _that's better_. She then checked to see if there was anything else in the satchel, more out of curiosity now that her hunger was slaked. She reached into the very bottom and pulled out three large toadstools, each with a bright green ring circling their stalks. Fiona paused. These would certainly not do. Although they were an ogre delicacy, and she had certainly enjoyed their tangy taste before – Shrek had said that their toxins gave them a delectable kick – he had also warned her that they were poisonous to everyone but ogres.

A delicacy for ogres. But poisonous to humans.

A dark idea lurched into being in the back of Fiona's mind, one that refused to fully form, but one which frightened her nonetheless. She couldn't face it directly … yet. But neither could she quite shove it aside.

After a moment Fiona went to a drawer, found a handbag, and dropped the three toadstools into it, trying not to rationalize why she was doing so. Then her eyes fell upon the picture of her and Shrek on the bookshelf. A small, sad grin briefly played at one corner of her mouth. She walked over, took the picture from the shelf, and then stared at the happy ogre couple for several seconds as she chewed her lower lip to prevent its quivering. Then, with resolution, she turned the picture around, removed the frame's backing, pulled the photo out, and slid it down the front of her dress until it was out of sight and rested against her heart. Then she set the frame aside, retrieved the bag of toadstools, and headed for the door. She decided to start that little tour of the castle as she had indicated to her mother. It occurred to her that there was one particularly appropriate place which she wished to visit. Following her thoughts, her gaze drifted upwards.


	9. High Tea

**Layer 9: High Tea **

The old wooden door squeaked upon its hinges as Fiona pushed it open and then stepped into the highest room of the tallest tower.

A somewhat musty smell greeted her. The sparse furnishings were covered with cloth blankets, apparently to protect them from the thin layer of dust that itself blanketed almost everything. But aside from such signs of current disuse, the room was much as Fiona remembered it. The walls were of plain, unpainted stone blocks. A tapestry hung beside the large window that she knew looked down upon the courtyard. The image woven into the tapestry was of a damsel looking out from the top tower of _another_ castle, waving a handkerchief across the landscape to a knight riding towards her – a damsel in distress beckoning her rescuer.

Her parents had used this room as a sort of training ground for Fiona. After the agreement had been reached with the Fairy Godmother on how to break the enchantment, and a schedule set for when Fiona was to be transported to her new 'home' in Dragon's castle, her parents had used this room to help condition their daughter to the upcoming experience, locking her here for progressively longer periods of time. They had feared that the loneliness or claustrophobia of the Godmother's 'solution' might weigh too heavily on their child, and were prepared to opt out of the agreement if that were the case – or so she'd been told. However, their fears were unfounded. Fiona never did make close friends with her peers, who regarded her as odd the way she was forbidden either to see anyone after sunset or tell them the reason why. As for the claustrophobia, Fiona found she actually _liked_ such close confines, finding them cozy, whether in a room like this or … much later in life … in a hovel in a swamp … her almost home …

Fiona forced her mind from that memory, so hopelessly lost. She looked about her. It appeared what use the room _did_ have nowadays was for storage; there were dress racks and dummies stacked in a corner, most empty, some not. An empty painter's easel sat along the wall near the tapestry. That made sense. With the view of the countryside from the windows here, Fiona imagined one could paint some impressive landscapes.

The princess closed the door behind her and walked over to a small side table. She dropped the bag of toadstools onto its cloth shroud. She stared down at the little bag for a few moments, wondering why she had brought it with her, and avoiding the answer that clawed at the edge of her consciousness. She then turned and wandered listlessly to the window beside the tapestry and looked down upon the courtyard. Workers were laying out a new bright red carpet and stringing partition ropes along either side of it in preparation for the ball tonight. Her ball. Fiona shuddered. If there was one thing she was _not_ in the mood for, it was an extravagant royal ball where she was to be the centerpiece of attention. She and Shrek. Shrek. Oh, Shrek …

Her thoughts were interrupted with a start as the public address system suddenly blared, "TESTING, ONE, TWO, THREE, TESTING, ONE, TWO." Fiona shook her head and lifted her gaze from the courtyard up over the castle walls and to the outline of Romeo Drive where it snaked down into town. Romeo Drive. Named after the male half of that famous legend of two star-crossed lovers. It would make for a good epic poem someday, Fiona thought. Or a ballad. Maybe even a play. Two young lovers, secretly and impetuously married, but whose blessed union was torn asunder by family strife. Desperate plots designed to overcome their plight foiled and appearances derived from them tragically misunderstood, their love so pure and lives so bright with promise would eventually crumble into suicide.

Suicide.

Fiona slowly turned from the window, and her gaze settled upon the little sack of toadstools sitting so innocuously on the table at the opposite side of the room. After a few moments, she began walking towards it.

_Fiona, what are you doing?_ It was the rational part of her mind again.

"I should think it would be obvious," she muttered aloud. "There's no point anymore. He's gone. I killed him."

_You did no such thing! Shrek did what he did of his own accord. Besides, he's not dead!_

"He is to me," she said. "If he were literally dead, at least I could mourn him properly. But this …" She shook her head.

She was now standing before the table, looking down at the bag.

_But Shrek needs you!_ the rational voice implored.

"No," Fiona said. "Not any more. At least, not the way he did. Not as a person that loves him in a true, pure sense. True Love … that's what's dead. And that's something that, now that I've tasted it, I can't bear to live without."

_But you have your memories. After all, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all._

"Bull," Fiona said with a sneer. "Whoever said that must have never been in love. At least, not a love like mine."

She reached for the bag.

_Don't do it! Don't give up hope! Where there is life, there is hope!_

"False hope, perhaps," she muttered. Still, her hand paused just short of the bag.

_No! There is no 'false hope'. There is hope, or no hope._

"No hope, then."

_You don't know that! And besides, think of your parents! Think of how they would feel._

"I've been dead to them for years anyway," Fiona said. But still, she hesitated. Her hand hovered just over the bag. Then, it began to tremble. Whether this was due to her inner voice's appeal to hope, or guilt over her parents, or fear of the act and … what might come afterwards, Fiona was not sure. But she couldn't bring herself to take up the bag.

With an irritated moan of frustration, she turned from the table and strode away. She stood in the center of the room for several seconds, arms crossed. Fuming. Thinking. Debating.

She still couldn't bring herself to take up the bag.

Not yet.

Deciding to put such dark thoughts aside for a time, Fiona wandered over to one of the covered pieces of furniture whose outline she recognized as a loveseat. _Love_seat. A wry smile played across her lips. She pulled the cloth dustcover off and dropped it to the side. The loveseat itself was in good shape, from its plush scarlet cushioning to its finely engraved cherrywood frame.

Fiona laid down on the loveseat. It was as comfortable as it was lovely. She closed her eyes, and then covered them with the back of her hand. She tried to put the day's events out of her mind for a time. Instead, she turned her thoughts back to a much happier day, the day that she and Shrek had arrived at their gingerbread honeymoon cottage. She recalled the flickering images she would later see from the home movie they had made; particularly the images from where Shrek had literally swept her off her feet and prepared to carry her across the threshold. They had stared briefly back at the camera, and she recalled her own uneasy smile, contrasting with Shrek's too broad, too forced grin. Both smiles, however, fronted a nervousness about the special intimacy that the two young, deeply in love newlyweds were about to experience for the first time. Fiona giggled as she remembered how Shrek had had to force their way through the non-ogre compatible threshold, taking chunks of the edible doorframe with them. Fiona's smile then took on an entirely different hue and her breathing grew huskier as her mind replayed the events that followed the door shutting behind them.

With her thoughts tuned to such happier memories, Fiona drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were mercifully pleasant.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours later Fiona was startled from her nap by a loud explosion in the air not far from the tower. She shrieked and tumbled off the loveseat and onto the cold stone floor, luckily without injury.

There were more explosions and occasional flashes from outside the windows. Fiona feared that the castle was under attack, but then she head a voice booming over the P.A. system: "WELL, THE ABS ARE FAB AND IT'S GLUTEUS TO THE MAXIMUS HERE AT TONIGHT'S FAR FAR AWAY ROYAL BALL BLOWOUT!"

Fireworks. The explosions and flashes were just fireworks, kicking off the celebration. Fiona moaned and pushed herself up off the floor as the excited announcer continued, "THE COACHES ARE LINED UP AS THE CREAM OF THE CROP POURS OUT OF THEM LIKE MISS MUFFET'S CURDS AND WHEY!"

The room was considerably darker than when she'd lain down. Fiona glanced out the nearer, westward-facing window. The sun hung large and low in the west, not very far above the horizon. The clouds around it had already started taking on their kaleidoscope of colors. She soaked the scene in for a while. It was beautiful. She wished Shrek were there to share it with her. Sunsets had become a particularly special time for them since the breaking of her enchantment, and she had only since then been able to appreciate their beauty. But now she sighed, remembering that Shrek now seemed to have trouble appreciating any beauty that wasn't custom-designed.

Fiona wandered over to the other window, the one overlooking the courtyard. That courtyard was much more crowded now; throngs of cheering, goggle-eyed people lined either side of the rope-bordered red-carpeted runway as beaming, waving celebrities meandered down it from the carriage drop-off to the main castle doorway. There was indeed quite a line of coaches and carriages of impressive, glamorous design lined up waiting to drop off their equally impressive, glamorous passengers. The flow was suddenly disrupted, however, as one carriage floated down into the front of the line from the air. Fiona recognized it as the Fairy Godmother's magical pink carriage, and for some odd reason she felt her blood chill.

The Godmother's chauffeur – Kyle was his name, as if anyone could forget since it was literally written across the chest of his leotard-like outfit – deftly leapt from the driver's seat and opened the passenger door with a flourish. The Godmother was standing there in her light-blue dress, a self-assured smile on her face. The crowd's cheers and applause picked up appreciably at the sight of her. Basking in the adulation, she flitted into the air over the runway.

"Hello Far Far away!" the Godmother cried, causing the cheers and applause to increase even more. Obviously pleased, she laughed and then, carried away by the moment, she yelled, "Can I get a whoop-whoop?" pumping one arm in the air with each 'whoop' as she did so. She raised a hand to her ear in a listening gesture as the gleeful crowd responded accordingly. Satisfied with their response and with herself, the Godmother addressed them again. "May all your endings be happy, and … well, you know the rest!" With that, she theatrically turned her wand to herself and disappeared in a cascade of shimmering light.

Fiona shook her head. One thing about the Godmother, she was no shrinking violet.

The princess continued watching other celebrities arriving and taking their vanity walks down the carpet amidst the cheering throng and flashing camera bulbs. She felt her depression return. Oh, how she wished she could be spending a quiet evening with –

Shrek! There he was, getting out of the carriage that they had ridden in earlier that day, and wearing the white-and-gold outfit. He had apparently decided not to wait for her. He made his way down the runway slowly, his stride and demeanor resembling a peacock. His progress was further slowed as every few steps he'd stop and wave at or throw kisses to the crowd, or pose for a camera.

That was when Fiona heard a knock at the door behind her. She didn't feel like answering. She didn't feel like doing anything. She simply continued staring down at the travesty below. After a moment, however, she heard the door swing open anyway.

"Darling?" asked an inquisitive voice, her father's. "Ah, I _thought_ I might find you here!" He sounded jovial. "How about a nice hot cup of tea before the ball?"

Fiona didn't turn around. "I'm not going," she stated.

"B-b-but the-the kingdom has turned out to celebrate _your_ marriage!" Harold stammered indignantly, all trace of joviality vanished.

Fiona closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head. "There's just one problem," she began, reopening her eyes. Then she turned to face her father and, gesturing out the window to the scene below, continued, "That's _not_ my husband."

Her father – who was indeed holding a tray with two teacups – looked briefly startled, then began wandering to the window to stand beside his daughter.

"I mean … _look_ at him!" Fiona said with some exasperation, then turned again to watch Shrek's slow, strutting trek down the runway.

Harold watched as well for just a moment, and then with an almost dismissive air said, "Yes, he _is_ a bit different, but … um …" He sat the tray down on the window ledge, then continued, "People change for the one they love." Then with a more serious, more consoling, and somewhat melancholy air he added, "You'd be surprised how much I changed for your mother."

"_Change_!" Fiona blurted, her frustration bubbling out. "He's completely lost his mind!"

"Darling, why not come down to the ball and give him another chance?" Harold urged, patting her gently on the arm. "I mean," he added, glancing briefly down at the posing prince before looking back at his daughter, "you might find you like this … new Shrek."

Fiona had recovered her teetering composure. She looked at her father – at his hopeful but anxious face, his uneasy grin. If only she could make him understand. Her father had seen the 'old' Shrek as at worst a threat and at best an obstacle to her happiness. She wished she could make him see that the 'old' Shrek _was_ her happiness, her joy, had become a part of her very being, and with that part gone she could no longer feel whole. There would always be an open, gaping wound where her ogre had been ripped away, and the existence of the pompous human that had taken his place would only make things worse by reminding her of what she had lost, and what he had done to himself for her.

"But it's the _old_ one I fell in love with, Dad," she said, her voice firm in conviction, deep in sincerity, and fathomless in longing. There seemed to be a slight change in Harold's expression. A softening. He suddenly seemed a touch more sympathetic than anxious. Perhaps she had at last conveyed a little of the extent of her feelings to him after all. Perhaps. She turned back to the window with a sigh. "I'd give _anything_ to have him back," she said from the depths of her soul, as much to whatever fates oversaw earthly fortunes as to her father.

There was a moment of silence. Harold didn't attempt to either rebut or comfort her. Instead, from her peripheral vision Fiona saw him staring at her, his face cast in deep contemplation, as if he was finally considering what she said, how truly committed she had been to her new husband, and how crucial he had been to her happiness. But the moment passed. It was all moot now, anyway, she reflected painfully. Forcing her thoughts back to the here-and-now, she reached down for the nearest teacup on the tray.

"Uh, darling, that's mine!" Harold suddenly said, snatching the cup away.

Fiona looked at him, surprised.

"Decaf," he explained nervously. "Uh-otherwise I'm up all night."

Fiona shook her head as she reached for the other cup. Truly, if there was one thing that her flighty father didn't need, it was caffeine. She brought the cup to her lips, blew on the steaming liquid to cool it, then took a taste. Actually, it _was_ good. "Mmm," she said, turning to her father and managing to summon a small appreciative smile. "Thanks."

Harold grinned back and gestured towards her with his cup. But the expression behind his grin had changed suddenly. He looked like a fortune teller who had just foreseen something tragic in the near future. Fiona stared at him as he absently tapped the rim of his cup with an index finger and his expression changed yet again, this time to worry. His eyes no longer seemed to be focusing on her – or focusing on anything – but rather staring off _beyond_ the physical world at something else, something he seemed to dread.

The king's demeanor confused Fiona. She really didn't know how to read him; it was as if there was a kettle of thoughts and emotions boiling underneath his surface, and he was trying to keep the lid clamped shut and the contents unseen. He continued staring off into space for several seconds, one index finger still tapping idly on the teacup.

He was starting to frighten her. She thought it was best to try to pull him back. She asked, "Aren't you going to try some?"

Harold seemed to snap back to the present and looked at her quizzically. "What's that, darling?"

Fiona gestured with her teacup towards his own.

"Oh!" he said. "Right! Um … ah … cheers!" He tipped the cup towards his daughter, then brought it near his lips. Suddenly the cup slipped from his hands. Some of the contents spilled onto his tunic; the rest splashed onto the floor along with the teacup itself, which shattered on the stone. For just a moment Fiona thought she saw wisps of pink smoke drift up from the little pool of liquid. They disappeared quickly, and Fiona convinced herself it must have been a trick of the eye, a ray of fading sunlight filtering through the steam.

"Blast!" Harold said, looking down at the splotch of liquid that darkened and matted the greenish-blue material of his tunic. He looked up at Fiona, smiled timidly, and said, "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a klutz."

"Here, let me help," Fiona said, setting down her teacup. She then kneeled and reached for one of the larger shards from her father's cup.

"NO!" Harold said, startling her. "You might cut yourself, and then some of the tea might …" He quickly pressed his lips shut.

Fiona, confused, looked up at Harold. "Might _what_, Dad?" she asked.

"Miiiight … cause an infection!" Harold said, grabbing the tray and kneeling himself. "You know what they say, the smallest cut might cause an infection!" He began quickly picking up shards and dropping them onto the tray. Fiona looked at her peculiar father, shook her head, and smiled.

When he'd finished, Harold took the tray and stood back up, Fiona rising as well. "There!" the king said, looking over the shards on the tray and then casting one last glance at the floor below to make sure he'd gotten them all. "No harm done." His glance then chanced again upon his stained tunic. "I'm afraid I'll have to find something else to wear to the ball tonight, though." At the mention of the ball, his expression again changed. This time he looked even more grievous than he had before.

Fiona sighed. She decided to relent. "Very well, Dad. I'll come down to the ball tonight."

"What?" Harold said, looking up at her again, but not quite focusing at first. A moment later, "Oh. Very well, if you wish."

Fiona didn't understand. The way he was acting, it was as if her being at the ball, which was so very imperative a couple of minutes before, had suddenly lost its significance. So very odd. Still, she'd indicated she'd attend, and goodness knew that he might well change his mind over its import yet again.

"It won't be until late, though," the princess added. She wanted to spend as little time there as possible. "An appearance towards the end. Eleven-thirty. No … quarter till midnight." That worked, Fiona thought. That would give her time to make a token appearance a few minutes before the midnight bells tolled and any commotion caused by such incidents as princesses having to rush off due to expiring spells disrupted the evening. Weird things happened at midnight around here, she remembered.

Harold nodded. "Very good," he said listlessly. "Oh, your dress has been delivered. It's laid out on the bed in your room. When you're ready, send a page to fetch me so that I can escort you down to Shrek. That's … court protocol." He smiled ruefully. "Appearances are important, you know."

"Sure, Dad," Fiona said. She was becoming concerned over the sudden depression that had come over him.

Harold nodded and then headed back to the door, his pace slow, his shoulders slumped. He paused at the doorway and looked back at her. His large brown eyes were sad and glistening, his wide mouth downturned morosely. "Darling," he said, "you do know that I love you."

"Of course, Dad," Fiona said, not sure where he was going with this.

"And everything I've done … the dragon's castle and all that … the idea was, in the end, it would all work out so that you would be happy."

"Yes, I … I understand."

"Please understand that … sometimes I had to make some compromises, do things I might have better avoided had I been wiser, but it was all –" Harold paused. He saw in her face that he was confusing her. He sighed resignedly, then said, "I just want you to know, should anything happen, that whatever you learn about me, I love you. Please, whatever else you may remember about me, remember that."

"Dad," Fiona said, starting to become truly concerned, "what's going on?"

Harold paused, then sighed, and a rueful smile played at his lips. "You'll probably find out tonight at the ball," he said. "If not then … well, soon enough." A distracted look then came upon his features, and he turned and headed out the doorway. "Yes, soon enough," Fiona heard him mumble absently as he wandered down the hallway, having left the door open behind him.

Fiona stared at the open doorway for a few seconds. She began to wonder seriously if her father was entirely sane. If Shrek had completely lost his mind, then her father too seemed to be on the verge at taking an extra step past his wits' end.

She wondered how much of that was her fault as well.

Fiona turned again to the window and looked down in time to see Shrek, standing at the castle door threshold, raise a hand to his lips and throw one last theatrical kiss out to the cheering crowd just before he turned and strode into the castle itself and, Fiona presumed, to the ball.

She sighed. It was all just a stupid mistake. He should never have rescued her from that tower in the first place. He should have just left her there, found a different swamp, and lived his own life in his own way. He should have found a proper ogress to marry, not some enchanted halfling who'd end up ruining him in an attempt to fulfill some naïve, self-centered fantasy of her 'happily-ever-after'. She should have just been left in that tower to rot. But then, if left there, then even more knights would have come to try to rescue her, and Dragon would have killed them, and Fiona would thus be indirectly responsible for even more deaths than she was already. She shuddered as she reflected on the destruction she had inadvertently wrought. Strangers' lives, Shrek's soul, and perhaps her father's sanity. Plus, she'd very nearly gotten that dark-haired stranger killed as well in his battle to rescue her. And she was young, yet; how much more devastation might surround her should she live the many remaining lonely years of her increasingly accursed life?

Fiona went over and closed the door that her father had left open, then wandered to the room's other window, the one facing westward. As she reached it, she saw the last part of the sun's disk slip beneath the horizon, as if even it wished to retreat from her lest some misfortune befall it as well. The moment of sunset. The beauty of the colorful clouds that painted the western sky was briefly lost on Fiona as she sucked in an involuntary breath, then looked down at herself. No, there were no shimmering lights, and she felt no pain, not even a tingling. For the first time she could remember – for the first time in her life, she now knew – she was facing nighttime hours as a human being. As if she needed any further confirmation, she now realized that the ogress – which she had so long prayed to banish from her being during the years in Dragon's castle – was indeed gone. Prayers answered. Congratulations.

Fiona reached inside the front of her dress and pulled out the picture. She looked down upon the happy, smiling ogres one more time. As she did so, a tear welled in one eye, and then dropped down upon the picture. It landed upon the ogress's cheek. Fiona chuckled ruefully at the irony. Then she slowly reached her hand holding the photo out of the window … and released the picture. She placed her hands on the window sill and leaned forward. She watched the picture flutter back and forth and sideways, almost as if the ogres trapped within the image were dancing together as they descended in the fading light. Eventually she lost sight of the picture as it disappeared in the shadows of the castle far below. As she continued staring down, Fiona felt a strong urge to follow it, to hurl herself out the window and end all this. Who knew; if the picture was still fluttering, she might reach the ground before it did. _First one to the bottom's a broken egg!_ Fiona started to laugh, but then checked herself. If she gave in to such laughter now, she wasn't sure if she could ever stop, and if she did, if she would be sane herself afterwards.

A while later Fiona sighed and leaned back into the room. She then turned and looked at the little sack of toadstools still sitting so innocently on the table, waiting patiently. She wondered briefly which would be the more fittingly ironic end; eating toadstools that were a delicacy for ogres but poisonous for humans, or throwing herself out the window of the highest room of the tallest tower. Either one would make a wonderful romantic tragedy. Too bad she wouldn't be around to read it.

_Stop it!_ It was her rational voice again. _You're giving up hope again! There's ALWAYS hope!_

"Whatever," Fiona mumbled dismissively. The rational voice was getting smaller … and less convincing.

Still, she had promised her father she'd appear at the ball tonight. And so she would. Then, after the ball, she would return here and … well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it.

Speaking of bridges, her ears just then caught the distant clinking and clattering sound of the large chains pulling the drawbridge up. She and the other castle denizens were now safe and secure behind high stone walls and watery moat. Another rueful smile played at the corner of Fiona's mouth. Intruders from the outside … that was the last thing she was concerned about this night. Of course, if such intruders were out to assassinate her _personally_, that was something else again. In fact, it would simplify matters considerably. Mulling the unlikely scenario over, Fiona said wistfully, "Just let them come."

Fiona soon dismissed the thoughts and lay back down on the loveseat. She had a few hours yet before she had to make her appearance, and so had time enough for another nap. A short sleep. A chance to dream of things that were and might have been. "Oh, Shrek," Fiona sighed as she drifted off once more into her last refuge.


	10. Having a Ball

****

Layer 10: Having a Ball

* * *

Copyright note: The lyrics to the song _Holding Out For A Hero _that appear in this layer are by Dean Pitchford and Jim Steinman. The song itself appears in the _Shrek 2_ soundtrack album.

* * *

It was just under an hour until midnight when Fiona wandered back down to her bedroom. She found an armored guard standing just outside of it. He did not see her at first, and was leaning wearily against the doorframe. His visor was upturned, and his face reflected utter boredom. As she drew nearer he finally noticed her, suddenly sprang to full attention, and said, "Your Highness!" just before his jostling caused the visor to clamp down shut over his face with a clang.

"It's all right," Fiona said, sparing the man one of her now-rare smiles. "You can take it easy. I just need to get ready for the ball."

"Uh … yes, Your Highness," the man said, and assumed an only slightly more relaxed posture. Through his visor's eye-slit she could see him cast his eyes down, apparently embarrassed at having been caught off-guard.

Fiona wondered about that uncovered eye-slit.

"Are you a member of the security team?" she asked.

"Yes, Your Highness," he said.

"No dark glass?" she asked. The man looked somewhat confused, and Fiona waved a hand in front of her own eyes to indicate what she meant.

"Oh, no, Your Highness," he said. "We don't wear them at night. What with having to rely mostly on torches and candlelight –" here he nodded towards the nearest of the flickering torches that currently lit the hallway "– we find them … awkward. We tend to … well, bumble into each other."

"I see," Fiona said. "Well, could you please go down and tell the king that I should be ready in about half an hour, and that he can meet me here if he'd like?"

"But … I'm supposed to protect you," he said awkwardly. "With all the people in the castle for the ball tonight, we've tightened security."

"I see," Fiona said. How ironic, she thought. If the man only knew that the greatest danger to Fiona's life this night was _not_ from the _out_side. "Well, I promise I'll be fine for the few minutes it'll take you to inform the king. Please."

"But …"

"Please. You can come back and resume your post here when you're done."

"Very well, Your Highness," he said, still reluctant, but then hurried off down the hall. Fiona watched him go, shook her head slightly, and then stepped into her room and shut the door behind her.

A fire was blazing in the fireplace and several candles had already been lit. Upon her freshly made bed she found the white sequined dress carefully laid out, thoroughly clean, and all damage repaired. In fact, everything about it and the room was spotless, sanitary and perfect. Or it would have been, if this were a cold museum. Personally, she missed the aura of lived-in hominess that greeted her as Shrek carried her over the threshold of their swamp home. Surprisingly she found she even missed Donkey's overenthusiastic but honest and heartfelt affection as he had greeted them upon their arrival.

Just then her ruminations were shattered by a bark. She looked down to see Puppy gazing up at her, its tongue lolling out and its tail wagging happily.

Fiona smiled. "Well, hello to you, too!" she said, leaning down and petting the little canine. Its demonstration of real, unconditional affection helped lighten her spirits somewhat.

She stood back up and turned again to the dress. She sighed, and then began to disrobe. A while later she was wearing the white gown and pearl necklace and was sitting in front of her mirrored vanity. She had pinned a silver tiara in place and was just finishing the last touches of some light makeup when there was a soft tapping at her door. "Fiona?" she heard her father's voice call from the other side.

"Coming, Dad," Fiona called. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, made sure everything was in place, and then got up and walked over to the door. She opened it to find her father standing there. He had replaced the stained felt tunic with regal military attire, featuring a long fur-lined cape and shiny ornamented armor breastplate. On some men – such as her remade husband – the accouterment might have looked dashing, but on her father's frame it reminded Fiona more of a turtle shell. Aloud, however, she said, "You look very impressive tonight," and offered as large a smile as she could muster.

Harold, however, appeared stunned for several moments as he looked his daughter up and down. Eventually he stammered, "You … you look beautiful!"

"Thank you," she said self-consciously, blushing as he continued staring at her.

Harold suddenly shook his head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just that … in that dress, you remind me so much of your mother. The first ball we attended together … the gown she wore was similar, and … well, it's almost like looking back decades into the past. You look _almost_ as beautiful as she did back then …" Harold's eyes suddenly grew wide. "Oh!" he said, realizing the 'almost' might be taken as a slight. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean –"

"That's okay, Dad," Fiona laughed. "If you haven't noticed, I'm not a 'Mirror, Mirror' type of girl."

"Indeed," Harold conceded. "Still, I think that 'beauty divine' still applies quite nicely."

"Thank you," Fiona said again.

"Yes, well," Harold said, then cleared his throat, stepped back, and offered his right arm. "Shall we?" he asked.

Fiona smiled again, nodded, and took his arm. As they stepped out into the hallway they heard the 'clank' of metal as the knight who had retrieved Harold came to attention behind them. Father and daughter both rolled their eyes and began walking down the hall, the knight following behind. As they did so, Harold chuckled.

"What is it, Dad?" Fiona asked.

"It seems that your husband and I have another point of agreement after all," he said wistfully.

"What's that?"

"About where you get your good looks from," he said, glancing over at her briefly and flashing a brief, wan smile. "You really _do_ look so much like your mother when she was your age.

Fiona smiled as well, but it was as brief and wan as her father's. "I just wish you could have learned more about Shrek. I mean, _before_ the potion … changed everything."

"Yes, so do I," Harold agreed, his voice tired. "To have won your heart, he must have been quite a fellow. I'm sorry, Fiona. There are many things I'm sorry for. I just pray that I might have the chance to do something to make it up to you. To you both." Then, under his breath, he mumbled, "But I fear I'll never get such a chance."

"We just wanted your blessing," Fiona said, sounding more plaintive than she'd intended. "No," she corrected herself after a moment's reflection. "_I_ wanted your blessing. Shrek, he … he just wanted me."

"Well," Harold said, "I can't say I blame him. _You're_ a blessing enough for any man."

Fiona forced a brief, appreciative smile, and choked back the rebuttal that immediately came to her mind: _No, Dad. I'm not a blessing. I'm a CURSE_.

Father and daughter lapsed into silence, and their walk to the ballroom resembled more the gait of the condemned plodding to the gallows rather than that of luminaries traipsing towards a royal party.

Still, they walked on, and Fiona soon picked up the sound of distant music. It grew louder, and the large door that led to the open inner courtyard that was being used as an outdoor ballroom soon came into view. The sound of the music was now mixed with the dull indistinct communal murmur of hundreds of conversations. Fiona felt queasiness in her stomach and had to fight back an urge to turn and bolt away.

They paused just before the door and the knight behind them moved forward to open it for them. As he did so, Harold sighed and muttered, "Well … this is it."

Fiona nearly laughed at the irony despite herself, but fought it back. All thoughts of laughter died as the knight pulled open the door. The music and the murmuring grew briefly louder, and Fiona looked through the doorway into the ballroom. There were indeed hundreds of finely dressed guests milling about the spatial dance floor and side seating areas. The large stage was brightly lit; upon it sat a piano at which the Fairy Godmother's chauffeur Kyle sat, playing a tune while the Godmother herself was singing a song. Just behind the stage area was a large painted mural of a beautiful outdoor meadow featuring a gazebo sitting beneath a lovely, sparely-clouded blue sky where a pair of cherubim hovered.

Off to the side, in a position of honor, sat two thrones. On one of these sat Queen Lillian. She was looking up at Harold and Fiona, apparently having noticed the door open. A moment later the Fairy Godmother also saw them and stopped her song. The many guests had also noticed the door open or had noticed the Godmother end her song and followed her gaze. Soon Fiona found all eyes staring up at her and her father. She gulped audibly.

"It's all right, darling," Harold whispered, reaching over and patting his daughter's hand. "Don't let all these ceremonial trappings intimidate you. Those people … they're just here to share your joy. They all wish you the best."

Fiona looked at her father and smiled appreciatively. He smiled back, and then looked forward. His smile suddenly faded. She followed his gaze and saw Shrek; he had stepped forward and was standing half-way up the multi-tiered stairway that led from the doorway to the ballroom floor. He was smiling that smug smile again that Fiona was learning to hate despite herself.

"Well … let's go," Harold said in a tone that had not only lost the comfort that he had extended to Fiona, but which tempted Fiona to wish to comfort _him_ somehow. But there was no time for that. Harold began moving forward, and Fiona stepped with him. The knight that had opened the door for them closed the door behind them and then took his place at one side of it, matching a fellow knight who was set near its other side.

King and Princess moved down the stairway in measured steps, eyes set forward, while Kyle played a few notes at the piano. As she approached Shrek, Fiona saw that her husband's face not only held a smug smile, but there was something else about his expression, something odd, a knowing little look as if he was withholding a secret. Fiona tried to tell herself it was her own nerves making her think this, but it unnerved her nevertheless.

As they drew near, Shrek he held out his left arm. Fiona reluctantly released her father's right arm and took the one Shrek proffered. As she did so, the King looked up at his son-in-law with reticent eyes, his mouth set in a grim line. Once Fiona had released Harold's arm the King turned and strode down towards his throne with heavy steps. Fiona followed him with her eyes, concerned about his apparent distress. But even as she did so, the loudspeaker boomed above her, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PRESENTING PRINCESS FIONA AND HER NEW HUSBAND, PRINCE SHREK!"

The ballroom filled with applause. Fiona saw her mother joining it, looking up at her daughter with a sympathetic, hopeful expression.

Shrek began leading them down the rest of the stairway, waving broadly, blowing occasional kisses, and every so often winking and pointing at someone. If possible, he was acting even more egotistically than when she had seen him on the runway. She held on to his arm, but she was beginning to feel more like an attendant than a partner. "Shrek," she whispered irritably, leaning towards him, "what are you _doing_?"

"Just … playing the part, Fiona," he said, totally unconvincing. She looked up at him, trying once more to read something – anything – that might remind her of her husband. She failed. In fact, she even noticed something that had quite the opposite effect, something that caused her to stop in her tracks.

"Is that … _glitter_ on your lips!" she gasped.

"Mmm. Cherry flavored," he confirmed, unabashed. His accentuated lips then curled into another self-assured smile as he leaned towards her and asked, "Want a taste?"

"UGH!" Fiona said, frustration boiling over as she pulled her arm away and stepped back. "What is _with_ you!" But the question was rhetorical. Without awaiting an answer from the stunned prince, Fiona began plodding back up the steps. There was no point to this. There was no point to anything anymore.

"But muffin cake …" she heard him implore behind her. She didn't look back. Let him have the stage to himself, she thought. There were other attractive, unattached women out there. Women that could appreciate his new, handsome, shallow self. He didn't need her anymore. No one needed her. She was a fool to come down here. All she had managed to do was cause everyone greater embarrassment. Idiot. It was time to return to the tower room and finish what she had started earlier.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Fiona heard the Fairy Godmother announce from the stage behind her. Good, Fiona thought. The Godmother was drawing attention back to herself and away from the retreating princess. "I'd like to dedicate this song to …" the Godmother continued as Fiona neared the top of the stairs. The princess was not really interested in the dedication. Her mind was set to contemplating the oblivion that yawned before her. "… _Princess Fiona and Prince Shrek_!" the Godmother concluded.

Fiona suddenly found herself bathed in spotlights. She froze instinctively. Then … slowly … she looked back. Kyle, his eyes closed, played his hands adroitly across the piano's keyboard, rendering the first slow, melodic notes of a song. Shrek, who had followed Fiona partway up the stairs, now held out one hand to her. "Fiona, my princess," he said smoothly with a smile less cocky than the one he had earlier, "would you honor me with a dance?"

Fiona hesitated. Meanwhile, the Fairy Godmother – who was suddenly wearing a dress made of gaudy sparkling scarlet sequins – held her wand to her mouth as a microphone and began singing the first slow, measured lyrics of the song Kyle was playing.

__

Where have all the good men gone and … where are all the gods?

The crowd – who Fiona was just able to make out in the shadows – began chanting "Dance! Dance!" and clapping their hands in cadence. Fiona felt every eye piercing her. She looked down at the many chanting guests, so giddy with the festiveness of the evening. She looked at her parents, who stared back at her, her mother with a concerned, questioning expression, her father still with an enigmatic pall of foreboding about him. She looked at Shrek, his hand still outstretched. His smile deepened and he nodded his head back towards the dance floor, accentuating his invitation.

__

Where's the street-wise Hercules to fight the rising odds?

Fiona felt torn. Part of her wanted to dash out of the ballroom and back up the stairs, to fling herself out of the tower window and end it all, as she had intended when she turned from Shrek earlier. But there was still a part of her that resisted. Still a part that refused to concede that her chance for happiness was irredeemable, and had taken advantage of Fiona's hesitation here to again plead its case. _Where there is life, there is hope, Fiona_, it insisted yet again. _Don't give up that hope! Before coming back here, you'd learned to be a fighter. So FIGHT!_

Fiona tentatively reached down and took Shrek's hand. He clasped it and swept her down the stairs. All the people who had been chanting now broke into applause. The guests cleared space for the couple on the dance floor as now both royals shared the spotlights that had been focused on Fiona alone. They took a formal dancing position. Fiona had assumed she would have to help Shrek; they had danced before, but it had always been informal, and to her knowledge he had had no training. How could he? But now, instead of the awkwardness Fiona expected, he demonstrating a grace, polish, and technical skill that surprised her as he led her across the floor to the slow, melodic music.

__

Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?

"Since when do _you_ dance?" Fiona asked Shrek.

"Fiona, my dearest," he said with his smooth, suave voice, "if there's one thing I know, it's that love is full of surprises."

__

Late at night, I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need … The Godmother, now quite caught up in the song and writhing on the piano, sang. Then, suddenly, she sat up and yelled, "Hit it!" The pleasant meadow background suddenly peeled away, revealing a more elaborate, sensational background design, a band, and a chorus of singers dressing in tight, shiny sparkling silver outfits. The music's cadence immediately sped up, the orchestra musicians joined in, and the chorus raised its voices to a crescendo. The Godmother sprang from the piano and landed deftly on the middle of the stage where she continued the song, whose rhythms now pounded throughout the ballroom.

__

I need a hero!

I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night …

And he's gotta be brave  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight …

As the music had changed, so had Shrek's dancing style. Fiona now found Shrek leading her about with a boldness that bordered on aggression. She tried to keep up with him, but found herself being dipped and flung and spun in movements that left her dizzy. She felt like Shrek was a matador and herself his cape.

While she tried to keep up with Shrek's frantic pace, Fiona caught whatever respites she could to catch her breath and regain her balance. During one brief pause, she noticed the doors through which she and her father entered open and a knight dashed in, uttered a command to the two guards on either side of the doorway, and then the three of them clasped a hand to their sword hilts and hurried out through the doorway, shutting it behind them.

Something was happening.

Fiona didn't have time to dwell on what that might be, however. Suddenly Shrek had taken her again, fixed her with that self-assured glare, and started the next dance step. It ended with him slinging her into a little spin. As Fiona recovered her balance she saw him slip a rose between his teeth. Clapping his hands Flamenco-style, he approached her yet again while the Fairy Godmother began another verse.

__

Somewhere after midnight  
In my wildest fantasy  
Somewhere just beyond my reach  
There's someone reaching back for me …

Feeling overwhelmed, Fiona tried to back away. But Shrek was quick and certain, and she found herself again being led – almost dragged – across the dance floor, trying desperately to keep up. She thought she now knew what a mop felt like in the hands of a competent and over-enthusiastic housemaid.

__

Through the wind and the chill and the rain  
And the storm and the flood  
I can feel his approach like the fire in my blood …

After leading Fiona a few times more across the floor, Shrek spat the rose out and dipped her down so she was suspended in his arms. Fiona found herself looking up at him as she tried to catch her breath. He paused to stare back down at her with that ultra-confident, forceful gaze. He seemed to be regarding her not so much as his partner, or his wife, or even a fellow human being, but more like a collector would admire an especially valuable trophy. He then leaned forward, pursing his lips and closing his eyes, inviting – no, _demanding_ a kiss. Fiona felt overwhelmed and a bit frightened. She instinctively wanted to draw back, but suspended in Shrek's embrace as she was there was no room for that. Then she remembered the discarded rose. Impulsively she snatched the flower from the floor and thrust it between her own teeth a split second before his lips met hers. He drew back and looked down at her, irritation – and perhaps a bit of anger – reflected in his features at having his 'romantic' moment spoiled. Fiona, teeth still clutching the rose, blinked up at him twice in rapid succession, hoping that the ostensibly playful gesture would mask the nervousness and trepidation that coursed through her tiring body. Shrek stared down at her a moment longer, and then with an expression that seemed equal parts grin and smirk, pulled her back to her feet and, without missing a beat, led her into the next step … and the next …

__

I need a hero!

I'm holding out for a hero till the morning light …

And he's gotta be sure  
And he's gotta be soon  
And he's gotta be larger than life …

Ragged … as ragged as a Raggedy Ann doll … Fiona prayed for the end of the dance. At some time during the dips and twirls the rose fell from her mouth, but by then she was too tired to care. Finally, as the Godmother began the song's last, crowning verse, Shrek threw Fiona into a last dizzying spin. She circled twice within a split second and lost her balance, but then just before she fell supine to the floor she found herself once again suspended in Shrek's arms, and once again their faces were just inches apart.

__

Well he's gotta be strong  
And he's gotta be fast  
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight …

Shrek smiled charmingly as he loomed above Fiona. Again there was no retreat as she lay back in his arms, and this time no rose or other prop to divert his attention. Shrek again leaned forward, again, pursing his lips. Haggard and exhausted, tired of resisting where resistance seemed both futile and almost juvenile, Fiona decided to give in. What difference did it make? It was just a kiss, after all. Shrek leaned closer. Fiona tried to ignore the saccharine-sweet odor of his breath spray as she prepared to return his kiss in kind.

__

I need a hero!

Suddenly the doors to the ballroom – the ones past which Fiona and her father had entered – burst open. Then a strong, commanding male voice echoed throughout the courtyard: "_STOP_!"

Whoever it was, he got what he'd demanded. Shrek, whose lips were nearly touching Fiona's, looked back to see what was going on. A look of fear drifted across his features, which surprised the princess. Irritation or anger from her husband for such an interruption she could understand, but _fear_?

In any event, he was cognizant enough to help Fiona back to a standing position as he rose to face the party-crasher. All other eyes also turned to the figure at the top of the stairway. The intruder was riding a white stallion that rose and whinnied. The horse then dropped to all fours and began galloping down the stairway. It was then that Fiona recognized the rider, and her mouth fell open.

It was the dark-haired stranger.

A moment later she realized it wasn't just a white stallion he was riding.

It was Donkey.

But the most breathtaking surprise occurred as the pair reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, you!" the stranger, deftly leaping from Donkey's back, called to Shrek. The stranger then took several menacing strides towards the prince, pointed at him, and growled, "Back away from my wife."

The stranger could speak! But far beyond just speaking, his _voice_ … his voice was that of …

But it couldn't be …

Yet it was …

And his face – that expression – the firm, challenging jaw, the surly set of his eyes as he confronted the man at Fiona's side …

At _his wife's_ side …

It was!

Fiona's eyes bulged with recognition. She felt her heart leap even as her brain struggled to get a grip on it all … that the dark-haired stranger really was …

"_Shrek_!" Fiona gasped, and then began stepping away from the blond … imposter, she now realized … and towards her true husband.

But before she could go very far, the Fairy Godmother intervened. She darted in the midst of the trio and then flitted upward. Her face, ablaze with a seething anger that Fiona hadn't imagined her capable of, threatened to turn as red as her dress as she glared down at the true Shrek.

"You couldn't just go back to your swamp and leave well enough alone," she spat, gesturing with a wand whose tip now glowed bright white. Fiona stared up at her, surprised at the ominous creature that had burst through the Godmother's kindly, friendly façade.

Shrek, however, had apparently anticipated her reaction. "NOW!" he cried towards the stage behind the Godmother. Fiona followed his gaze and saw the three little pigs standing there, two holding either end of a blanket.

"Pigs und blanket!" all three cried, and one pig leapt against the middle of the blanket just before the other two snapped it taught, propelling the pig at the hovering Godmother. She turned just as the pig reached her; he struck low, caught one of her ankles, and clung there.

Infuriated, the Godmother kicked at the pig with her free foot. He obviously wouldn't be able to hold on very long. Fiona turned back to Shrek, but he had his sights set on the distracted Godmother while above his head he was twirling a certain familiar wooden puppet by his strings like a lariat, or like David swinging his sling just before launching its missile at Goliath.

"Pinocchio, get the wand!" Shrek said as he released the strings.

Pinocchio, voicing his own version of a battle-cry, flew towards the Godmother. He clutched for the wand as he neared her, but she recovered from the pig's distraction just in time to notice him and pull the wand away from the puppet's grasping hands. As Pinocchio flew over and past her head, she pointed the wand at him and zapped him with a bolt from it. He was briefly covered with shimmering light which quickly transformed into a burst of bubbles that revealed not a puppet but a human child. "I'm a real boy!" Pinocchio cried happily as he toppled to the stage. He immediately bounced back to his feet and started dancing a gleeful jig, his personal joy making him oblivious to surrounding events.

With a strong kick the Fairy Godmother finally rid herself of the pig, sending it flying through a nearby open second-floor window. Unencumbered and enraged, she turned again to face Shrek, drawing her wand back in apparent preparation for a blast. Fiona was about to scream when suddenly the Big Bad Wolf, still dressed in Red Riding Hood's grandmother's nightgown and cap, sprang beside Shrek and blew a great, long puff of breath up at the hovering Godmother. She lost both her concentration and steadiness as she began tumbling backwards in the turbulence. As she struggled to regain control, she dropped the wand.

It was caught by one of the remaining pigs. The Godmother regained control of her flight and dove at him, her face distorted with rage. The pig scampered across the stage and slid under the piano, but the airborne fairy was closing in quickly. Suddenly Donkey galloped from around the stage.

"Catch!" the pig cried, and hurled the wand at the charging equine. But the Godmother altered her flight path with relative ease, and even as Donkey caught the wand in mid-stride with his mouth, she was bearing down on him as well.

"Donkey!" another shrill voice yelled, and Fiona saw the Gingerbread Man standing on another part of the dance floor – all the party guests seemed to have abandoned it to gawk as spectators from the sidelines. Donkey flipped the wand to the waiting Gingerbread Man. 'Gingy' grabbed its handle – which was twice as long as he was tall – and had just gotten control of it when the Godmother came swooping in. He dipped it just out of her reach as she zoomed by, overshooting him. Gingy then suddenly spun in a circle – whether intentional or not, Fiona couldn't tell – and then the wand flew out of his hands and across the stage. Its flight path took it tantalizingly close to Fiona and the blond imposter, who Fiona deduced was in league with the Godmother, whatever that relationship might be. Now he rushed over to try and intercept the wand's flight. But Fiona was a step nearer, and as he stretched for the wand she launched herself at him in a cross-body block. They impacted; the imposter uttered a little yelp as the wind was knocked out of him and the wand past just beyond reach of his fingertips. Fiona ignored the brief pain of the impact, and even had a little grin on her face as they both tumbled to the floor. Meanwhile, the wand continued on its flight path. It bounced off of one of the three blind mice and clattered to the dance floor, discharging a bolt that struck Pinocchio, who was still dancing his gleeful jig. Unfortunately, the bolt changed the boy back to his puppet self. "Ooooh," he moaned, and looked dejectedly downward. His jig was up.

Fiona got back to her feet, hoping to be of some further assistance, when she saw both Shrek and the Godmother diving for the wand.

"That's mine! That's mine!" the Godmother cried, grabbing the wand first and, for a brief moment, clasping it in her hands. But Shrek swiped it away with a desperate lunge. The wand again went flying through the air.

Once more Donkey galloped after the wand, but its flight took it too high for him to reach. He didn't have to, however, for again on his back rode that curiously booted cat, Puss. Using Donkey's neck as a springboard, he leaped into the air and grabbed the enchanted stick.

Donkey looked back at everybody with a big toothy grin. "Pray for mercy from Puss –" he said as the cat landed on his back.

"And Donkey!" Puss added, brandishing the wand triumphantly.

Fiona wondered what the Godmother would do now. Would she attempt to seize the wand from the cat? Or would that be too dangerous: could even a complete amateur – assuming that Puss was an amateur – wield the instrument well enough to do her damage if she tried? Or would she, with the sky open to her now, choose to make good an escape before she could be arrested? Indeed, Fiona noticed a few of the security force stumbling back into the courtyard, apparently dazed. Exactly what _had_ transpired out there during the rescue, anyway?

The princess's musings were cut short, however, when the Godmother did the totally unexpected; she turned from where she was staring at Puss and Donkey – and stared at _her_. "She's taken the potion!" the Godmother said with urgency and desperation. "Kiss her NOW!"

Fiona stared in bewilderment at the villainess. Potion? _Another_ potion? But she hadn't taken any –

Suddenly Fiona was whirled violently aside, and found herself staring again at the blond imposter. Before she could react, he forced his foul, cherry-flavored lips against hers in a kiss.

"NOOOO!" Fiona heard Shrek from a few yards away. It was the wretched sound of a soul condemned.

Then Fiona realized what the Godmother must have been referring to. The potion … it must have been … in the tea! The tea her father had given her. _The tea her father – who was acting so strangely – had given her_. Fiona's heart sank. Her father … had betrayed her. Her father was in league with this evil Godmother and this sociopathic narcissus. Shrek had apparently known this, and he had, along with so many of their 'freakish' fairytale friends, risked all to prevent this kiss. But they had failed. The Godmother's plotting and the king's treachery would be rewarded. All was lost. Fiona closed her eyes. Now she wished she _had_ done herself in when she had the chance. Better that, she thought, than what she was about to become – the star-struck, doting adjunct to this self-absorbed wanna-be tyrant-in-waiting.

The kiss completed and the damage done, the imposter pulled back. Fiona opened her eyes to see him staring at her, anticipation plastered on his face. She waited, resigned. She waited for the tendrils of the potion's magic to claw their way into her heart and her mind, to reshape her to this dandy's will and fancy. She waited for her emotions to be torn apart and re-sown into a pattern that pleased the potion-maker. She waited.

But nothing happened.

She remained herself.

Slowly it dawned on the princess – the potion hadn't worked!

The imposter, however, apparently didn't notice. He reached over, caressed her cheek, and smiled that little lopsided smile. The smile was a bit tentative this time, as if he was waiting for reassurance from her, some sort of sign confirming how she felt about him.

Well, Fiona decided, if it was a sign he wanted, she would give him one.

She smiled sweetly at him – the best acting job she had done in her life – and reached up with her hands and caressed both of his cheeks. He smiled again and raised an eyebrow as Fiona used the caress to center her aim. Then she cried "HI-YAH!" and threw her head forward, impacting his right where she wanted. The crowd of the ballroom, which had lapsed into silence when the imposter had kissed her, now let out a collective gasp at the blow. The imposter continued standing, teetering, for a few moments, then his eyes rolled upward and he collapsed to the floor. Fiona followed his toppling form with a curt, self-satisfied nod. Sweet Heaven, that had felt good!

What felt even better was that with the imposter's obnoxious form below her line of sight, she now found herself beholding her True Love. He was on his knees, a posture he'd apparently dropped to when he thought he'd lost her. Now, his face was awash with relief as he, too, realized that the potion had failed. He smiled and quickly got to his feet, then moved towards her as she did to him, the two drawn together as if by a force that neither could resist nor wished to.

"Fiona," he said, his voice soft and tender, as if afraid that the moment was fragile, like fine porcelain, and to jar it would risk breaking.

"Shrek," she returned, her voice equally tender. He looked so different now. So very different. Her handsome, dark-haired stranger. But his voice, the expressions of his face, the way he moved – yes, this was her True Love. He would always be her True Love. Handsome or ugly, fat or thin, for richer or poorer, in sickness or health, until death do they part. And she had nearly chosen death. How utterly stupid that would have been. Where there was life, there was hope. She could almost hear her rational mind say _I told you so_. But her rational mind was not paramount right then. Not at this moment, and not with Shrek so near. They reached for each other –

"Harold!" the Godmother sputtered, sounding both angry and confused. Then she darted past Shrek and Fiona and on towards the king, who stood a few yards away. "You were supposed to give her the potion!" she said accusingly as she hovered before him.

"Well," Harold replied, his tone one of obviously feigned remorse, "I guess I gave her the wrong tea."

Harold stared at the Fairy Godmother, a confident grin on his face. Fiona noticed that he seemed to be standing straighter, with more pride, than she had seen him do before. Facing down the aghast Godmother, he looked truly kingly at last.

Fiona remembered the tea. The cup he had snatched from her at the last moment. The odd pink smoke that arose when he had smashed it. All done intentionally, she now realized. And all for her. And what he had risked in defying the Godmother – Fiona hated to think what the Godmother would do if she still had her wand –

"Mummy!" Fiona heard the imposter call from behind her.

"_Mummy_?" Fiona repeated, confused, turning to Shrek.

Too late did she notice the wand flying over their heads – and into the Godmother's waiting hand.

The Godmother stared at the wand for a moment, an evil glee seeming to radiate from her eyes and a growl of joy emerging from her throat. Then she turned to Shrek and Fiona. She rose skyward and transfixed that evil glare upon the newlyweds. She smiled a smile that was not a smile, but a snarl barely restrained. Terrified, Fiona clutched at Shrek. He pulled her close, protectively, as they both stared up at the Godmother.

"I told you ogres don't live happily ever after!" the Godmother spat, vitriol dripping from each word. She then pulled back her wand, almost theatrically, as she took aim at the lovers.

Fiona took some solace in the knowledge that whatever happened to her and Shrek, they would at least be together. However, as the Godmother threw her wand hand forward, Shrek shoved Fiona aside with all his strength. Fiona lost her footing and fell to the floor, out of harm's way. She looked back to see Shrek glowering defiantly up at the Fairy Godmother, ready to absorb alone the blast that had been meant for the both of them.

"SHREK!" Fiona screamed, futilely reaching back for him as a bolt of energy leapt from the Godmother's wand and streaked towards her husband.

"NOOOO!" came another cry, this one from Fiona's father. Harold rushed into Fiona's field of vision and threw himself in front of Shrek, taking the blast that was aimed at the former ogre. There was a blinding flash at impact, and Fiona had to turn her eyes away. She heard the clatter of metal as her father landed on the floor – or rather, her father's body, she thought sickly. But a moment later she heard another impact, this one in the sky as the Fairy Godmother uttered an odd little scream of her own. Fiona looked up to see the Godmother tumbling backwards through the air. After travelling several yards, she regained control. She took a moment to look herself over, a worried expression on her face. But apparently satisfied that all was in place, she glared down at Shrek again and once more pulled her wand back.

Then she suddenly exploded into a cascade of bubbles. All, that was, but her wand and glasses. They fell and clattered onto the floor below, one of the glasses' lenses breaking and the wand's star tip fading out as on the floor all about them the Godmother's bubbles burst.

Fiona looked to where her father had fallen. There was nothing left of him but his clothes and scorched breastplate. The smell of ozone permeated the air. The princess struggled to her feet, her eyes fixed on the remains. She looked over at Shrek; he looked back helplessly, not knowing what to do or say. Fiona then ran over to and knelt by the remains. "Oh, Dad!" she moaned, laying her arms upon the still-warm armor breastplate and then dropping her head onto them and sobbing. A moment later she felt Shrek gently touch her shoulder. He had knelt beside her. She let go of the breastplate and instead fell into Shrek's arms. She cried on his shoulder while he embraced her consolingly.

Then she heard a croak. It was followed by the sound of two little hands pattering against the breastplate. Fiona looked down.

She stopped crying.

She blinked.

A large frog, green with brown splotches, sporting a tuft of hair under its chin, a small crown on its head, and bearing her father's expressive brown eyes, was pulling itself atop the breastplate.

"_Harold_?" Lillian asked. She, like Fiona, had knelt beside the king's remains.

"_Dad_?" Fiona echoed her mother's surprise.

The frog sighed, and then spoke in Harold's voice. "I hoped you'd never see me like this," he said with great embarrassment as he cast his eyes down and away.

"Hey!" Donkey said, his voice chiding, as he looked at Shrek. "And he gave _you_ a hard time!"

"_Donkey_!" Shrek rebuked his friend.

The king, however, waved Shrek's defense off with a webbed hand. "No, no, he's right, I'm sorry," Harold said with true remorse. Then he repositioned himself so that he faced Shrek and Fiona together. "To _both_ of you," he continued. "I only wanted what was best for Fiona …" He paused, sighed, and then looking alternately between the two of them, continued, "But I can see now that she already has it."

Fiona looked over at Shrek and smiled. He smiled back awkwardly.

"Shrek, Fiona," Harold began as if about to make a pronouncement, paused for a moment, and then continued more humbly, "would you accept an old frog's apologies … _and_ my blessing?"

Harold had been looking mostly at Shrek when he'd said that. Fiona also looked over at her husband. Still apparently somewhat embarrassed, Shrek nodded his acceptance … and forgiveness. Fiona had an odd feeling then that there was much more that Harold was asking forgiveness for than she was aware of, and so Shrek's gesture was perhaps even more magnanimous than it appeared now. But that was past. Besides, whatever unsavory deeds her father had performed to the newlyweds' detriment before, he had this day performed feats of redeeming heroism, preserving Fiona's soul in withholding the potion, and saving Shrek's life by throwing himself between him and the crazed Godmother's wrath. In return he had literally been stripped naked to the people of his kingdom, and had his darkest, most feared secret exposed. Fiona couldn't help but remember her own experience at the church in Duloc, where she had her own dread secret revealed when she transformed into an ogress in front of nearly the entire stunned town. So she, of all the people here, most knew what the king was going through. And so, as for some of his more inscrutable actions and utterances … well, she thought as she looked at the frog, _that_ explained a lot.

"Harold," Lillian said, looking down at her husband with apparent admiration. Harold however, seemed to take it as pity.

"I'm sorry, Lillian," he said mournfully as he looked up at her, "I just wish I could be the man you deserve."

Harold then turned and tried to hop away.

But Lillian caught him.

Harold looked about, surprised, as Lillian lifted him towards her.

"You're more that 'man' today than you ever were," she said, smiling lovingly at him. Then she added, in mild jocularity, "Warts and all."

Harold looked back at her, smiled with gratitude and relief, and croaked happily.

Fiona looked at her parents, the frog king and human queen. She saw the love radiating between them – more now than she could ever remember seeing before. She wondered – did her mother always know? Was she aware of her father's amphibious origins before they met? Or had he hidden them from her and this was the first time she was seeing him in this form – apparently his true form? Had he, like Fiona, feared that he would be rejected for this true self? Or had he presented his true self to Lillian, as Shrek had to Fiona, with the lowest of expectations, only to find Lillian fall in love with him anyway? Fiona wondered. But as she continued watching Harold and Lillian and seeing them not just as her parents but as a pair who loved each other and would continue to do so through any adversity, despite their differences and in spite of what others thought, Fiona realized it didn't really matter.

Fiona felt Shrek touch her arm. She looked over to see him smile and gesture upward. She nodded and let him assist her to her feet. Together they looked down at Fiona's parents, and Fiona felt Shrek slip his hand into hers and squeeze gently.

Then the large courtyard clock struck the first bell of midnight.

"Boss!" Puss cried urgently. "The Happily-Ever-After Potion!"

Shrek looked back at the clock. "Midnight!" he gasped. He appeared to take a moment of quick contemplation while Fiona looked up at the clock and wondered what the sudden fuss was about. Then Shrek turned to her, his face indicating more import to his words than she'd ever remembered seeing before.

"Fiona," he said, taking her by the shoulders and staring into her eyes. "Is _this_ what you want?" The urgency, the demand for an instant answer faded a bit as he seemed to note the confusion in her eyes. "To be this way, forever?" he explained, his voice softer, his hands sliding down her arms and then clasping her hands.

"What?" Fiona asked, still confused, but feeling a little spark of hope ignite within her.

"Because if you kiss me now, we can stay like this," he said, smiling and raising her hands to chest level.

Fiona was stunned. So this _wasn't_ a permanent transformation! After all that she had been through this day, bemoaning all that she had thought was lost and believing that there was no going back – it _would_ all change back at midnight, automatically, if she simply refrained from a kiss? She surely _had_ been a fool! Yet here was Shrek, his mind under no spell, threat, or trick, and still he was offering her that kiss, offering to seal their forms as humans, offering to sacrifice all that he had felt defined him, all for her, all just to make her happy.

"You'd do that … for _me_?" she asked, her voice not much higher than a whisper.

"Yes," he said unhesitatingly, and pulled her a little closer to him.

There it was. Shrek was not only willing to sacrifice his true self for her, he had left the decision in her hands. She had complained that he didn't ask what she wanted, resented the idea that he perhaps didn't care, and yet now here he was, trusting her with the most important decision of both of their lives. And the expression on his face revealed an openness and trustfulness that said he would accept any decision she made without complaint or regret.

All day long Fiona had been living a nightmare. Now she was in a dream come true.

Her gaze drifted over to Donkey and Puss. The cat seemed breathless with anticipation, but her old and uncharacteristically silent equine friend simply offered a patient, benevolent smile. Then Fiona turned and looked back at her mother where she now stood, still holding her father with both hands. Mother and daughter shared a knowing glance, and Lillian smiled at the pure joy on Fiona's face. Harold, too, smiled sympathetically, awaiting a decision that Fiona knew he would now respect either way.

Fiona started to turn back to Shrek, but paused halfway. She took a moment to think back again to the life that the little girl she had once been dreamed that she'd have: marriage to a brave, handsome prince, residing here in her grandiose home, Mom and Dad nearby, living all together as one big happy royal family as Fiona raised her children to be proper little princes and princesses themselves. Mrs. Fiona Charming – well, close enough, for Shrek was offering to make that dream a reality. That is, it _would_ be a reality if they could find a way to change Harold back into a human, and then if they trained Shrek in all the niceties and conventions and tedious protocols of 'civilized' courtly life …

… and if Fiona could unlearn every lesson, deny every pleasure, and rebuff every genuine feeling she had had from the moment that a big green ogre had come crashing through her tower room roof.

No. There was only one life that fit them, one life that she really, really wanted. She bid a mental farewell to fantasies of childhood, and turned turn to face her future, which stared back at her with big, brown, anxious eyes.

"I want what any princess wants," she said, "to live happily ever after ..."

Shrek smiled a loving and understanding smile. Then he leaned forward, closing his eyes and pursing his lips. He had misunderstood which decision would lead to her happily-ever-after. She had suspected he might. She reached up with her left hand and gently laid her fingers on his lips, stopping the kiss. He opened his eyes and looked at her, surprised.

"… with the _ogre_ I married," she completed her pronouncement, sliding her left hand from his lips to caress his right cheek.

Shrek looked at her as he lifted his right hand and laid it gently atop her left. His expression beamed an array of emotions – relief, gratitude, but above all, adoration. There was a trace of uncertainty as he seemed to be searching her face for something. Fiona knew for what; he was seeking any trace of uncertainty in her _own_ expression, any hint that this was something she didn't really want or might regret, that this was a sacrifice that _she_ was making for _him_. Fiona's smile deepened. Let him search for such things, she thought. He would find none. She soon saw the uncertainty disappear from his face, and all that she saw reflected there now was deep, pure love. He tenderly lowered her hand from his cheek until they were again facing each other and clasping hands at just below chest level. They did not kiss. Not yet.

The clock tolled the last stroke of midnight. Then the transformation began.

It started with their joined hands; a warm, bluish glow that quickly spread up their arms and across their bodies, accompanied by tickling sparkles of white light. At first Shrek looked down at the lights dancing across their blue glowing arms in awestruck wonder, then his eyes followed the spreading glow back to Fiona's face, and he grinned. Fiona felt light on her feet, and then they started to float. They rose slowly, and started spinning in little circles even more slowly as their glow grew brighter. It went from blue to white. Then, in a literal flash, the two found themselves dressed again in the clothes that they were wearing just before they had transformed into their human selves – Shrek in his off-white shirt, alligator-skin vest, and plaid pants, and Fiona in her dark green dress. But now the dress, like Shrek's clothes, was ogre-sized, and the outfits hung baggily on the duo. That situation did not last long, however. Through the fading glow Fiona could already see Shrek's skin changing from its peach hue back to its proper green coloring. As it did so, his physique also changed. He grew larger, like a parade balloon being pumped with air. His button nose grew bulbous; his long wavy locks receded, seemingly growing back into his scalp which soon regained its shiny bald pate. His taught round buttocks and this firm tummy expanded even more than the rest of him, until they, too, had returned to their true dimensions. His ears warped and expanded outwards into the trademark ogre earstalks. Soon the dark-haired stranger was no more. In his place floated the familiar ogre. And Fiona couldn't have been happier.

As the princess had watched Shrek's metamorphosis, she was quite aware of her own. Unlike her previous sunset and dawn transformations, there was no sudden discomfort or pain. This time she simply felt a warm, tingling sensation all over her body, a body that she felt slowly expand, like Shrek's, to fill her outfit as she resumed her broad ogress form. She breathed deeply through her widening nostrils, and thrilled as she detected her husband's familiar, pungent scent. She didn't realize how much she'd missed that. Her own reshaped ears, thrusting outwards as her own earstalks grew, were now able to hear more clearly, and picked up on the oo's and ah's from the people below. Fiona glanced downward, between the bands of shimmering light, and her sharper ogress eyesight easily picked out her mother, still tenderly holding her amphibian father, both staring up at her and smiling. She smiled back. Then she turned back to Shrek. He was staring at her with those big, gorgeous eyes. He looked so very joyful. But then one last trace of doubt clouded his expression, as if he feared this was all too good to be true.

"You're really sure, Fi?" he asked softly, which made him hard to hear over Donkey's nearby protests over his own transformation. Their friend was apparently less enthusiastic about resuming _his_ true form.

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "With all my heart."

Shrek sighed, his face reflecting great relief and extreme happiness. Then he chuckled and said, "I'm sorry. I thought … I thought you wanted us t'be beautiful."

A mischievous glint in her eyes, Fiona grinned and said, "But you _are_ beautiful."

Shrek laughed briefly, but then realized from the look on Fiona's face that, despite her impish delivery, she had meant every word. He resumed simply staring at her in silence, the adoration that was spread across his own face as he beheld his re-ogrified wife saying more than any words could. The transformation was complete, and the pair was slowly starting to descend in the same slow spiral. They released each other's pudgy hands and instead reached for and embraced each other's rotund forms. Fiona closed her eyes as she contentedly rested her head upon Shrek's broad shoulder. She hugged him closely, tightly, wanting to drink him in through every pore of her being. For a few moments no one existed in the ballroom … in the kingdom … in the world … but the two of them.

They landed lightly on their feet. They released each other and again stared, smiling, into each other's faces as the last glowing shimmers faded. Then, a few feet away, they heard a plop and slight 'oof' as Donkey, his transformation complete as well, landed on his behind. Fiona looked over at her brave friend, who now examined his restored body with a disappointed sigh.

"Hey," Shrek, smiling gratefully, said to him, "you still look like a noble steed to me."

Fiona smiled as well and nodded her agreement. Donkey looked back at them and returned a sad grin of his own. Beside him stood the fairytale gang. All, like Donkey, had risked life and limb. Rather than any tangible reward, they had fought for friendship, for loyalty, and for some unidentifiable something that the unlikely ogre pairing represented. It was something elemental and pure, something that had survived odds even steeper than this group had just overcome to bloom, to grow, and to thrive.

Fiona turned back to Shrek. She felt happier at that moment than at any time since … well, since their honeymoon. Those magical, wonderful days, which were sent crashing to earth, literally like herself, when the king's messengers had arrived with their summons to this kingdom. Their honeymoon had ended then. But no, she reflected. Not ended. It had been interrupted. It was now time to resume it. She giggled, then reached up with her left hand and turned Shrek's face back towards hers.

"Now," she said suggestively, ignoring all the eyes upon them as she playfully fingered the front of Shrek's vest, "where were we?"

Shrek recognized her mimicking of his lighthearted words from their last happy moments back in the swamp, and he beamed at her. "Oh!" he said, his tone equally playful. "I remember."

Shrek swept the princess into his arms as her eyes grew wider, her smile broader, and her heart pounded within her chest as if demanding to be set free. She giggled again gleefully as he tilted her back in a move reminiscent of all those fairytale romances featuring more … conventional principals. Unlike the last time he had tried this maneuver, when she had too easily slipped through his fingers, he now made sure his grip on her was tight and rock-solid. Fiona sensed this, and felt safe and secure in his arms. Shrek paused for a moment, staring down at her, his face radiating a love so deep and true that poets had not yet devised lines worthy enough to express it. Then he leaned down and they shared a too-long-delayed kiss. Water given to a woman dying of thirst could not have tasted sweeter to her than this kiss did to Fiona. She did not have to concentrate this time to recall all the passionate, amorous feelings that their previous kisses invoked; they poured back now with a delightful vengeance.

Around her she was dimly aware of applause from the crowd. It was not the polite applause of protocol, either, but a heartfelt expression for all they had just witnessed. It appeared that the ogres might be accepted here after all, for who they were, just as they were. It was just a matter of getting to know someone before you judged them. After all, she reflected, it isn't external appearances, nor effusive words, but rather what we do that truly defines us. Her husband and his friends – _their_ friends – had indeed defined themselves as heroes. As for herself … she was who she was. She swore to herself she would never again make another apology or feel embarrassment for herself, _or_ for her beloved ogre, just for being who they were.

There were so many questions yet unanswered. What was to become of her father now? And what of herself; how was she to reconcile her position as the heir to the kingdom with her place as the wife of a swamp-dwelling ogre? What were they to do with the imposter prince? Was he but a simple dupe of the Fairy Godmother? And what if _she_ wasn't dead after all? That last thought made Fiona shudder.

Fiona recalled her mother's words. _Happily-ever-after isn't an end, Fiona. It's a beginning. It's not a fate, it's an opportunity. An opportunity to face the rest of your lives together, as one loving, caring, mutually supportive unit, confronting and overcoming conflicts and difficulties, as well as sharing in joys and happiness. Happily-ever-afters aren't just granted, Fiona. They're what you work for._

Very well, thought Fiona, locked protectively in the embrace of the ogre she loved. As long as they were together, she could face anything.

Let the adventures begin!

THE END


End file.
